Beyond Sunsets
by Philippa
Summary: ON INDEFINITE HIATUS With a new English teacher, a stolen car, and the old feud with the Socs, Ponyboy’s got more than he can handle. But his year takes a terrifying turn for the worse when the town is darkened by the shadow of a burning cross.
1. The Teacher

**A/N** I've had an _Outsiders_ story knocking around in my brain for awhile, but a rewatch of the movie and a reread of the book sort of forced me to start writing or go crazy. I hope you all enjoy reading half as much as I enjoyed writing this!

**Chapter 1**

I slouched down the hall toward my English class, my slow feet and tough expression hiding the anticipation I felt. Mr. Syme loved the semester theme I turned in before Christmas break, and he even gave me a C+ instead of the C he'd promised. But writing that theme had done more than get me a passing grade – it helped me think things through and work out the knot of confusion that had grown inside me until I couldn't think straight or feel anything but a kind of numbness.

I sauntered through the door, and was surprised to see that Mr. Syme wasn't behind his desk. He's always there when we arrive, partly because some kids like to mess up the classroom if there isn't a teacher watching them, and partly because he just likes to be there in case we need to ask him anything. Mr. Syme is a good ol' fella, for a teacher.

I walked to my usual seat in the back corner and made myself comfortable, with my feet propped up on the crossbar of the chair in front of me.

"Hiya, Ponyboy," Jim Baron greeted me as he slipped into the desk beside me.

"Hi, Jim," I responded. We were pretty good school friends – sat together in classes and in the cafeteria and sometimes studied together.

"Did you hear what happened to old Syme?"

A sudden pang of anxiety shot through me, but I kept it hidden beneath my cool expression. "Nah, what?"

"He went skiing last weekend and broke his leg. He's laid up in a hospital in Colorado!"

"Holy smokes," I muttered. "Can't he come home?"

"Nope. Not until he's out of traction, and that'll be at least a month."

I groaned. "Well that's just great. Whose going to teach our class now?"

As if in answer to my question, the bell rang out in the hall, and woman I'd never seen before came through the doorway.

Beside me, I heard Jim catch his breath, and then he muttered, "If that's our new teacher, I think I'll be taking English every period."

He was right – she was by far the prettiest teacher I'd ever seen, not that I'd seen many outside of my own school, but I'd bet that she turned heads no matter where she went. Her honey blond hair was pulled into a tight bun on the back of her head, but you could tell it was real curly because pieces of it had worked free and were clinging to the sides of her face. Her big eyes were blue – so bright that I could see their color all the way from the back of the room. She was just about my height, or maybe a little shorter (it was kind of hard to tell because she had high heeled shoes on) and her shape was just about perfect. She wasn't skinny, no sir, but she wasn't fat either. She just curved the right amount in all the right places.

I knew I was staring, and I guess just about every other kid was too because the before class hubbub had suddenly disappeared. She set an armful of books on the teacher's desk and turned to the chalkboard. In narrow, flowing letters, she wrote _Miss Meriwether_ at the top right hand corner. Then she turned around and smiled.

I swear my heart stopped beating for a moment, and I guess Jim's did too, because he gave a kind of choked gasp and slumped down in his seat.

"Good afternoon," our new teacher said, although she said it differently from anyone I'd ever heard in real life before. Her soft voice pulled the words out so that they flowed kind of like her handwriting. _Good aftuhnoooon._ She sounded just like the southern belles in _Gone with the Wind_, that time Johnny and I saw it in the theater. "Mah naame is Miss Meriwethah, and Ah'll be yoah teachah foah the rest of thiis semestuh."

It took me a moment to adjust my ears to the rhythm of her speech, but I caught on real quick. Mostly she just made her vowels stretch out and turned a lot of them into "ah." It was the sweetest way of talking that I'd ever heard.

"I'm certain many of you have heard of Mr. Syme's unfortunate skiing accident. He is recoverin' in Colorado, and I will be your teacher for the rest of this year. You'll have to forgive me if I'm a little disorganized these first few days, but I just arrived from No'th Ca'line on Saturday."

I was still trying to puzzle out _No'th Ca'line_ when she picked up a sheet and said, "When I read out your name, please raise your hand."

My last name starts with C, so I'm usually pretty close to the beginning of roll call. I waited a little uncomfortably – teachers always felt it necessary to make some comment about how unusual my name was – but when Miss Meriwether got to me, she read it out without so much as batting an eyelash. "Ponyboy Curtis?" she asked, only, of course, it came out _Ponihboah Cuhtis?_ I raised my hand, and she checked my name off on her list just like she had the first three.

Things went smoothly until she got to the R's. "Peter Robertson?" _Petuh Robuhtson?_

No hand was raised in the air, and I, along with everybody else, turned a little to look over at Pete, who sat in his usual chair by the window so that he could watch cheerleading practice in warm weather. Pete's a big guy, the only reason he isn't on the football team is because of his lousy grades, and I'm not sure why he's in the A English class. He was sitting slumped down in his seat, with his long legs stretched out in the aisle, his arms folded over his chest, and smirk on his face.

"Peter Robertson?" Miss Meriwether asked again, looking around the room.

Bruce Allen, who was sitting across the aisle from Pete, kicked his foot. "Hey, Pete, that's you."

Pete looked at him in fake surprise. "Huh?" he asked loudly. "Was that my name she was trying to say?"

Miss Meriwether walked over so that she stood at the end of aisle that ran by Pete's desk. "Are you Peter Robertson?" she asked, looking at him with those big baby blues of hers.

Pete stared at her like she was speaking Greek or something, and then he looked around at all rest of us. "What I don't understand is, how come they sent us an English teacher that can't speak English?"

I writhed in my seat, burning with embarrassment for poor Miss Meriwether. Big Pete had obviously decided that he was going to ride roughshod over her, and if she was anything like some of our other lady teachers, she wouldn't be able to control him at all.

But she didn't seem upset. She just looked at Pete with a puzzled little frown, like she couldn't quite figure him out, and then she smiled, that same smile that had made my heart skip a beat.

"Peter, it seems that you and I are having some slight communication difficulties. However, when plan A fails, we simply move on to plan B." She went over to her desk and wrote for a minute on one of those little message pads that all the teachers keep on their desks, and then she walked right up to Pete's desk and handed him the note. "I trust you won't have the same difficulty readin' my writin'."

Pete looked down at the note, and then he sat straight up, his face red with anger. "You can't give me detention!"

"Oh can't I? The last I checked, Peter, I was the teacher, and you were a freshman. Kindly gather your things and go, before I decide to remove you from my class permanently."

Glaring fiercely, Pete slammed his books together and stood up. I reckoned that he wanted to scare Miss Meriwether by towering over her, but she just stared up at him coolly, and then stepped aside so that he could pass her. Pete stomped out and slammed the door behind him so that the windows rattled in their frames.

"Now where were we?" Miss Meriwether murmured, returning to her attendance sheet.

She called the rest of the role and then had us write a short essay on the best book that we'd ever read. I hate questions like that because it's so hard to pick just one, but I finally settled on _Gone with the Wind_, which I'd finished over vacation. Finally, she assigned some reading out of a book I'd never read before, _The Lord of the Flies_, and dismissed us a couple of minutes before the bell.

I never like to stampede out the door, so I took my time getting my books. I was the last one out of the classroom, and as I passed Miss Meriwether's desk, she called, "Ponyboy, could I talk to you for a minute?"

I turned reluctantly. It wasn't that I didn't want to talk to her or anything, but in my experience, it's usually not a good thing to get pulled aside by a teacher. I stopped by her desk, staring down at the books on it instead of at her, because I was afraid I might blush or something if I had to look at her too close.

"Ponyboy," she began, and to my surprise she sounded hesitant, not like she was about to yell at me. "I've done something that I hope won't upset you. Mr. Syme gave me your semester theme. That is, he called me and told me where to find it in his desk and suggested that I read it, so I did. I hope you don't mind."

I shifted from one foot to the other, thinking about it. There was a lot of personal stuff in that theme, but most of the story she probably would have found out about before long anyway. And she seemed like an ok person, the way she had stood up to Pete and everything. "No, I don't mind," I finally decided.

She smiled. "I'm glad because I have a proposition for you. That theme is good Ponyboy. It's one of the best pieces of writing I've ever seen from a student."

Privately, I wondered how many students Miss Meriwether had taught. She didn't look old enough to have been a teacher for very long.

"But it's really too long to be called a theme. Do you know what you've done Ponyboy?"

I shook my head, a little confused.

"You've written a book."

That shocked me so much that I forgot to stare at the desk and looked at her instead. "A book?" I asked in disbelief.

She was smiling real wide, and she looked excited, as though she'd just found ten bucks under her seat in the theater or something. "Yes, an actual book. And I think that with some editin' and rewritin', you could sell that book to a publisher."

My mouth actually dropped open. "A publisher? You mean like they'd print it and put a cover and a title on it and everything?"

"Oh,. absolutely."

Excitement flashed through me, and for a dizzying moment, I saw myself in a drugstore, pulling a book off the rack and looking at the cover: _By Ponyboy Curtis_. And all kinds of people would buy it, and read it… My excitement died away as I realized just what that meant. "I don't know, Miss Meriwether," I said slowly.

"What's wrong?"

I sighed and said out loud what I'd only thought before. "There's a lot of personal stuff in there, and if everybody who knows me read it … I'm not sure I'd like that."

She nodded understandingly. "I thought you might feel that way. That's why part of the editin' process would be changin' the names. You don't even have to put your own name on the cover, if you don't want to. You could use a pen name."

I thought about it and nodded slowly. "Yeah, I guess that would be all right." I felt a little dazed. "Miss Meriwether, how come you think someone will want to buy this book?"

"Because," she said seriously, "you say important things in there. Things that people need and _want_ to hear. Besides," she added, a sly little smile crossing her face. "I happen to know a few people in the publishin' world."

"I…Have you written a book?" I demanded.

She smiled, her full smile this time, and opened one of her desk drawers. She pulled out a book with a picture of a rowboat on the cover and handed it to me. "_That Stranger, My Brother_, by S.E. Meriwether," I read aloud. "Wow!"

We were grinning crazily at each other, like we'd suddenly discovered a fabulous secret that no one else in the whole world knew about.

"It's amazin', isn't it?" she asked. "I could hardly believe my eyes, the first time I held that in my hands."

"And you think…you think…"

"I think that by this time next year it will be your own book you'll be holdin'."

"Wow," I breathed, awed.

Miss Meriwether let me stare a moment longer, and then she said briskly, "If you're serious about this, it's goin' to take a lot of work and commitment. I can meet with you once a week after school to advise you, but you'll have to be willin' to do a lot of work on your own."

"Yes, ma'am, I'll work real hard. Boy, my own _book_!"

"I was hopin' you'd feel that way. In fact, I optimistically took the liberty of writin' a letter to your brother, to explain about you stayin' after school." She pulled a long, cream colored envelope out of her bag and handed it to me. _Mr. Darrel Curtis_, it read, in the same flowing letters she had used to write her name on the chalkboard.

"Thank you, Miss Meriwether," I said gratefully. That would make it easier to convince Darry that this was really a teacher's idea, not that he would protest as long as I didn't let it interfere with my schoolwork.

Out in the hall, the bell rang, signaling the beginning of next period.

"Oh dear, now I've made you late," she exclaimed. "I'd better write you a pass and let you get along to your next class." She wrote one out and handed it to me.

I thanked her again and started out of the room, then realized I was still holding _That Stranger, My Brother_. "Here's your book."

She shook her head. "You can keep that if you like. I've got a whole box of them at home. Here, let me autograph it for you." She flipped open the cover and scribbled something on the inside, then handed it back to me. "I'll see you tomorrow."

I ran out of the room and down the hall to my biology class. Once I'd handed my pass to the teacher and settled into my seat, I opened my new book and read the inscription.

_For Ponboy Curtis, who will soon be holding __his own book_

_Best wishes for a bright future,_

_S.E. Meriwether._

_To Be Continued_


	2. The Joke

**A/N** Thank you so much all those of you who reviewed! Your encouragement and helpful comments mean a lot. I have sent out review responses, but you probably don't have them yet because the site's messaging system seems to be majorly goofed up. Enjoy the chapter!

**Chapter 2**

After school, Two-Bit caught up with me just outside the front entrance. "Hey, Ponyboy, need a ride?"

"You bet," I said gratefully. I hated riding the school bus because a lot of the kids liked to bug me for some reason, and it was a long, cold walk home in the middle of January.

As we sped down the street in Two-Bit's rusted out Ford Coupe, he demanded, "What's all this I hear about a gorgeous broad teaching English? The descriptions I was hearing almost made me decide to take up the subject myself."

I snorted. Two-Bit's grades were always awful, but his English scores were consistently worse than the rest. He was currently repeating the remedial composition course for the third time. "She's not a broad," I said defensively. "She's a real nice lady."

"A real nice lady who's a real doll, if half of what I hear is true," Two-Bit jibed back. "You gone sweet on her already, Ponyboy?"

I felt the tips of my ears turning red, and I suddenly realized the kind of ribbing I would be in for if the rest of the gang found out that I was going to be spending lots of time working on my book with a teacher who looked as if she should be modeling swimsuits in the movies. I thought fast.

"Yeah," I said, trying to sound brazen and boastful, the way Two-Bit himself does when he's talking about girls. "I gotta admit she's a real doll. First time I actually enjoyed looking at a teacher!" Two-Bit cackled, and I continued, "And the best part is, she wants to do a little private tutoring with me, to work on that theme I wrote for Mr. Syme last semester. She thinks I can sell it and get it published as a book!"

"Hey, no fooling? You mean that one you wrote about Johnny and Dally and the whole gang?"

"That's the one."

"All right!" Two-Bit punched the steering wheel joyfully. "I'm gonna be in a book! That's tuff, Ponyboy, that's _tuff_! Man…" He looked at me admiringly. "Writing a book and tutoring with a lovely lady. Greaser, you got it made."

I grinned. "Guess you didn't know you were riding home with the next big thing in our town."

"Well don't forget your old buddies when you're rich and famous. Just wait until the rest of the gang hears this!"

"Hey!" I said suddenly as if a thought had just occurred to me. "I got an idea. What if, instead of telling the guys what a doll Miss Meriwether is, what if we make out that she's real ugly? So ugly that I can hardly stand to look at her."

Two-Bit looked confused. "Why?"

"Think about it. They'd all feel sorry for me, having to be cooped up all the time with Boris Karloff's sister, when really…"

Two-Bit began to grin, "When really you've got your young peepers glued to a gorgeous woman."

I knew I had him. Two-Bit always liked anything that sounded like a joke. "That's it! And think about it if they ever do meet her."

"Their eyes would probably fall out of their heads and roll away down the street!" Two-Bit started laughing so hard he almost steered us right into a telephone pole. After that, he pulled into a Dairy Queen parking lot until he could get himself under control.

That night I could hardly wait for Darry and Soda to come home from work. Two-Bit had offered to drop me off at the DX where Soda worked, but I wanted to tell both my brothers at once. Darry and I had been working hard at getting along, and with something this important, I didn't want to seem to be favoring Soda again.

I managed to settle down and get my math and some of my history homework done before I heard the Ford rumble into the driveway and stop. "Pony?" Soda called as they came into the house, stamping snow off their boots.

I went out into the living room to meet them. "Hi," I said casually.

"Hiya, little buddy," Darry greeted me, messing up my hair as he walked past me to hang up his coat.

I stuck my tongue out at his back and carefully smoothed my hair back into place. It was just starting to get back to a decent length, and Soda had talked me into dying it brown when the roots began to show beneath the peroxide, so I finally looked halfway decent again.

"How was your first day back at school?" Soda asked, as usual throwing his own coat onto the floor by the couch.

"Soda, hang up your coat!" Darry hollered without even looking. Soda mimicked my sticking out the tongue gesture, but did as he was told.

"It was real good. We got a new English teacher."

"New? What happened to Mr. Syme?" Darry asked as he flopped down into a chair.

"He's in a hospital in Colorado. Broke his leg in a skiing accident."

"Too bad," Soda sympathized. "He was your favorite teacher, wasn't he, Ponyboy?"

"Yeah," I agreed, "but the new one's not so bad. She read that theme I wrote for Mr. Syme last semester."

"Oh yeah?" Darry looked at me with interest. "She say anything about it?"

I took a deep breath. "She says it's real good. She thinks that if I work on it and fix some things I can sell it as a book."

My brothers stared at me as if I'd grown a third eye. "You're joking," Soda finally said in an awed voice.

I shook my head. "She wants me to stay after school one day a week so that she can help with editing and stuff."

"Are you sure about this, Ponyboy?" Darry asked doubtfully.

I couldn't blame him for wondering. It had sounded pretty incredible to me when Miss Meriwether had suggested it. "Sure I'm sure! She even wrote you a letter about it." I ran into my bedroom and grabbed the letter and book off my desk. I handed the envelope to Darry and the book to Soda. "Look, she's even written her own book. She gave me that one."

"S.E. Meriwether," Soda read. "That's really your teacher?"

"Sure is," I said proudly.

Soda kept looking at the book, turning it over and over in his hands, and I watched Darry read the letter. His face was real still while he did it, but when he finally put it down, he was smiling. "Guess it's for real. This S.E. Meriwether seems to think you wrote something pretty good, Pony."

"So can I do it?" I asked eagerly. "Please, Darry?"

He nodded. "As long as…"

"I know, as long as it doesn't interfere with my schoolwork. It won't, I promise," I finished for him.

He looked surprised. "Schoolwork? I was going to say, as long as you promise to buy me a mansion in Hawaii after you're rich and famous."

I growled and tackled him, knocking his chair over. Soda jumped in, and for a few minutes we tussled joyfully. The wrestling match ended when Darry had us both pinned down, with me on the bottom. "Gerroff, you're killing me!" I managed with the last bit of air in my lungs, and my two-ton brothers obligingly rolled away.

"I'm hungry," Soda said when we had all caught our breath. "What's for supper?"

At that moment, the front door slammed open, and Two-Bit bounded in along with a blast of cold air.

"Shut the door!" Darry and I hollered in unison.

He did, with a bang. "You tell them, Pony?"

"Yep. Two-Bit drove me home from school," I explained to my brothers.

"Can you believe it?" he demanded, grabbing me and knuckling my head. "Our very own bestselling author!"

"You're jumping the gun a little," I warned him, squirming away and patting my hair gingerly.

"Oh no I ain't. You'll _deserve_ to be famous after putting up with that broad for a whole semester. I just caught a glimpse of her going down the hall, and _woooeeee_! She is as homely as a monkey's uncle."

Soda laughed. "That true, Pony? You got a monkey's uncle teaching English?"

I shrugged. "I just try not to look at her too much when I'm up close. But she's real smart and she's nice, too. It ain't her fault if she doesn't look like Marilyn Monroe."

Two-Bit was shaking his head. "I tell you, you'd have to _pay_ me to sit in a class with that teacher. You'd have to pay me a _salary_!"

His expression as he said it was so comical that Soda just about busted his gut laughing. I laughed too, and so did Darry, but then he got serious and said, "Pony, this lady's doing you a big favor. You be real polite."

"Oh, I will," I promised sincerely. "Like I said, she's nice. Just ugly."

"Like a monkey's uncle!" howled Soda, falling down on the couch.

Darry rolled his eyes. "I'll write you a note to take back in the morning, saying you have my permission to stay after school."

"Thanks, Darry," I said fervently.

"No problem." He grinned and pulled me into a sideways hug. "I reckon I couldn't be prouder if you'd just become president of the U.S.A."

Now _that_ made me feel good. It made _me_ feel prouder than the president of the U.S.A.

_To Be Continued…_


	3. The Socs

**A/N **Thank you so much those of you who reviewed! Your review responses are sitting in the traffic jam that is currently this site's messaging system :(

**Chapter 3**

The next day after English class, I again gathered my books slowly, so that I could be the last one out of the room. Jim waited for me, though, so I had to tell him I needed to talk to Miss Meriwether about my work.

He got this stupid grin on his face and punched me on the arm. "Pony, you sly dog! You got nerve."

I rolled my eyes even as my ears turned red. "It ain't like that."

"Sure it ain't." He winked. "I'll see you in biology."

Jim's reaction convinced me that I'd made the right decision on hiding the truth from the gang. They'd of bugged me to death over it.

Miss Meriwether was sitting at her desk, looking over some papers, but she smiled at me when I finally made it up there. I smiled back. For some reason, now that I knew she had written a book, it didn't make me nervous to look at her anymore. When I thought about it later, I decided it was because now I knew her as more than just a pretty woman. She was a real smart person with a life of her own. When you just see a girl as pretty, well, there's only one thing it leads to, and _that_ always makes me nervous, even just thinking about it.

"I brought you a note from Darry," I said, handing it over. Darry had done the thing properly, the same way she had done, with a whole sheet of paper and an envelope instead of just the folded scraps we typically used when passing a written communication. "He says it's fine for me to stay after school."

"Wonderful." She tucked Darry's note away in her bag. "What day of the week will work best for you?"

I hesitated. Once the season started, track practices would be Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, but I didn't even know if I'd make the team yet, and I didn't want to inconvenience Miss Meriwether. "Monday, Wednesday, or Friday, I guess, but I can really do any day."

She flipped open a little black calendar and scanned its pages. "Let's say Wednesdays then. Right after you get out of your last class, come here and we'll go over what you've accomplished durin' the week." She opened a drawer, pulled out the three notebooks I had turned in to Mr. Syme last semester, and handed them to me. "Between now and next Wednesday, I want you to go someplace where you can be alone and read the whole story over out loud. Whenever you come to somethin' that doesn't sound right to you or that you think you'd like to change, put a star by it, but don't stop to think about it. Just keep goin'. When you get through, make a list of the most important things you'd like to change."

The thought of reading my work out loud made me uneasy. "Couldn't I just read it silently?"

She shook her head. "You'll be surprised at how different the words sound when the voice is in your mouth instead of your head. Do you think you can get that done for next Wednesday?"

"Yes, ma'am, I can do it."

She nodded decisively. "Good. Now run along before you're late for your next class again."

I got off the bus that afternoon determined to start on Miss Meriwether's instructions right away. The house was deserted and it was a perfect time to do some reading out loud. Wondering why I felt so nervous, I sat down at the desk in my room with the notebooks and opened the first one. Two paragraphs in, I knew why I had felt so nervous about this – the thing was terrible.

Maybe I had gotten a big head or something after hearing both Mr. Syme and Miss Meriwether talk about how great they thought the story was, but it didn't seem at all great now. A lot of the words didn't fit together very well, and the sentences clunked together like boxcars after an engine – the only reason they moved along was because they were forced to.

I almost gave up after the first page, but two things kept me going, and they both had to do with Miss Meriwether. The first was my promise to her that I would read through the whole thing by next Wednesday. Even if all I did was read it and then tell her that it was hopeless, that this garbage would never be a book, I was determined to keep my word. And the second thing was what Miss Meriwether had said to me. She'd said that she thought it was good, and surely a person who herself had a book published couldn't be completely wrong?

So I kept going, and about five pages in something happened. The words stopped grinding against each other and the sentences quit rattling like empty boxcars; instead, everything seemed to purr like an engine after Steve and Soda have got done tuning it. A picture rose up in my mind, a picture built on those words, and I could hardly believe that I, Ponyboy Curtis, had written this amazing thing that had suddenly come alive. It must have written itself – I couldn't have had anything to do with it. It went on like that for about four pages, and then, as abruptly as it had started, it disappeared, and the words falling off my tongue were awkward and wooden again. It turned out that the whole story was like that – patches, sometimes paragraphs and sometimes pages, of aliveness that blazed out among a choking border of dead words.

I read out loud all week, whenever I could grab a few minutes alone, making all kinds of stars in the margins of the pages. The other thing I did, besides school and homework and necessary stuff, was start reading Miss Meriwether's book. It was real interesting right off the bat. There were a bunch of people on a ship at sea, taking a cruise around some islands in the Caribbean. One of these people was a black man who'd made a bunch of money by investing in the steel industry, and now he was almost as rich as the Kennedys. But he wasn't happy even though he had all that money because his wife and little son had died of cholera. Plus, he hated white people because his ancestors had been slaves, and even though the Civil War was a long time ago, white people had treated him mean all his life. There was another man on the ship, a white man, but he was a steward not a guest, and he really hated the black man. I couldn't quite figure out why, but he had some idea that all black people should be servants and all white people should be rich. They hadn't even been sailing for a week before a terrible storm blew up and the ship began to sink. The white man was washed overboard, but someone pulled him into a lifeboat, and it turned out to be the black man. When the storm cleared, there was no land in sight and no other boats. All they had is each other and a few supplies that were stashed in the boat. That was as far as I'd gotten before Wednesday rolled around.

I hadn't stayed after class since last Tuesday, and Jim had finally quite bugging me about how I was talking to Miss Meriwether about my "work." You can be sure I was extra careful not to let a word slip about my after school plans that day, and I made certain I was out of his sight before I headed back toward the English classroom.

When I got there, Miss Meriwether wasn't alone. Some girl was standing in front of her desk, chattering loudly, and Miss Meriwether was nodding and smiling, but I thought her smile looked a little reserved – it wasn't the full out excited one she usually gave me, especially when we were talking about writing.

She saw me hesitating in the doorway and beckoned me in. "That's very interestin', Cindy," she said to the girl who had finally paused for breath. "I'm afraid Ponyboy and I have an appointment now, but I do appreciate your tellin' me."

Cindy looked over at me and frowned slightly. I recognized her now – she was a sophomore and a middler. Middler was my private term for those kids who were in between the Greasers and the Socs. They don't belong to the country club or drive brand new Mustangs, but they definitely don't live in my neighborhood.

"Goodbye, Miss Meriwether, I'll see you tomorrow," Cindy said before she walked slowly out the door, glancing back over her shoulder at the two of us.

Once she was gone, Miss Meriwether smiled at me, her full, bright, smile that made me feel something wonderful was just around the corner. "Pull up that chair, Ponyboy," she directed, pointing to a straight backed one that stood in the corner, "and let's see what you've done."

"It was a lot harder than I thought it would be," I confessed as I sat down next to her behind her desk. I was so close to her that I could smell her perfume; it was rich and bright like her smile. "Some parts of it seemed real good, and other parts of it I could hardly even read."

She nodded, looking pleased. "And why do you think that is?"

I slowly flipped through the first notebook, scanning all the passages I had stars by. "I think I did ok when I was actually describing things that happened. It was those in between parts, when I had to get from one thing to the next and describe everybody and everything. That was what didn't sound so good."

"Transition passages are often very difficult," she agreed, "and it is hard to make an interestin' bridge from one major event to the next. Let's look at these passages one by one and try to figure out what exactly is wrong with them."

I'd never thought so hard in my life, and the time flew by as we read and discussed and tried to corral those slippery words into some kind of decent order. I was shocked when Miss Meriwether glanced at her watch and exclaimed, "Oh my, it's after five o'clock!" She looked suddenly concerned. "Ponyboy, I never even thought to ask if you had a way to get home. Do you need a ride?"

"Oh, no ma'am," I said hastily. "My brother works at a DX only a few blocks from here and he gets off at six, so I'll just walk over and catch a ride with him."

"All right then. You understand what to do for next time?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'll rewrite as much as I can."

"I know you will. Get on with you now, before your brother thinks I've kidnapped you."

I turned up my collar and stuffed my hands deep in my pockets as I walked down the street, but it wasn't enough to keep out the bitter cold. So intent was I on trying to feel the least cold possible that I didn't notice when the red Mustang started trailing me. It wasn't until I had to stop and wait for a light that I finally noticed the peculiar behavior of the guys inside that car.

Things had been real peaceful ever since the last big rumble when we whipped the Socs, the night Johnny and Dally died. I guess maybe we were all scared enough to lay off the fighting for a while. And I have to admit I'd gotten careless – it had only taken a couple of months for me to get so used to not being jumped that I'd stopped watching my back.

But I was still smarter than I had been last fall, when it was a blue Mustang instead of a red one that pulled up beside me and spat out a bunch of Socs like a clown car at the circus, and the second I figured out what was going on, I split. I was only three blocks from the gas station, and I thought maybe I could come within sight of Soda and Steve before they caught me. But I'd only made it down the first block before I slipped on a patch of ice and fell flat on my back. That was all they needed to surround and grab me.

There weren't any other people on the sidewalk, of course. No one in their right mind was out walking on a day like this if they didn't have to be, and the Socs, there were six of them, had me hidden from view so that people driving by couldn't see what was happening.

It was a little late to play it cool, but I tried it anyway, putting a tough expression on my face and not struggling against the two that were holding my arms. Maybe if I didn't fight them, they'd relax their guard.

"What do you want?" I snapped.

"One of you dirty little greasers slashed my tires yesterday," the driver of the Mustang said. "And I'm not inclined to let you get away with that."

"It wasn't me," I snarled, privately guessing it was Curly Shepherd who had just gotten out of juvy hall (again) three days ago.

"Doesn't matter. Don't you greasers boast that you all stick together like a band of brothers? So hurting one of you is like hurting all of you."

Another one of them, holding a can of beer, stepped forward and nudged me with his boot. "Aren't you the dirty greaser they all said was such a hero a while back? You don't look so heroic now."

"You know what he looks like?" one of the others asked, grinning. "A piece of trash, just lying there on the sidewalk."

"Trash, white trash!"

I snarled and tried to shake off my two guards, but they held tight, and one of the drivers gave me a hard backhand blow on the face that made my ears ring. "Now boys," he said, "what do good citizens do when they find trash lying on the sidewalk?"

"Throw it away!" the rest of them chorused, and suddenly they were all on me at once, hoisting me off the ground and carting me toward the corner where one of the big, metal city trash cans stood. I struggled as hard as I could, but they kept smacking me on the head until I was dizzy, and then they stuffed me in the can upside down, twisting my legs so that they went in too.

I dimly heard one of them say, "Here's his greasy stuff. Better put that in the trash too," and then I felt something land on top of my legs.

"I guess we did our civic duty!" someone boasted, and laughing, they walked back to their car and roared off.

It took me a minute to wiggle out of the trash can, because the insides of it were real rough and there was glass in the bottom so every time I moved I felt like I was cutting myself up. But I finally got out and tallied up my injuries. One of my eyes was nearly swollen shut, and my hands and wrists were cut from the can and the glass. Other than that, I was pretty much all right. My backpack lay on the ground where I had kicked it out in my struggle, with half the contents spilled out. I started picking stuff up and found that it was all soaking wet – the guy with the beer had emptied his can over my books. Anxiously, I opened my theme notebooks. Some of the words were a little blurry, but I could still read everything. It could have been a lot worse – they could have stolen it and burned it or thrown it in the sewer or anything. I was sure going to catch it, though, for getting beer all over my school books. I stuffed everything back into my bag and ran toward the DX, limping a little because one of my ankles was hurting me.

Soda's eyes went wide and scared when he saw me. "Ponyboy, what happened?"

"Bunch of Socs jumped me and stuffed me in the trash," I muttered, blotting my bloody hands on my jeans.

Soda pulled me inside the garage and made me sit down on a chair while he looked at my cuts. Steve came over and glowered down at me, but I knew it wasn't me he was mad at because I heard him cursing the Socs under his breath.

"You put some peroxide on these soon as we get home," Soda said when he was done making sure I wasn't about to bleed to death or anything.

"Yes, mom," I said, trying to lighten things up, but neither Soda nor Steve smiled.

A horn honked outside just then, and they had to hurry out and pump gas. It was the busiest time of day, so they didn't come back in for awhile. The more I sat there smoking a cigarette and thinking about what had happened, the more scared I got, not about what might of happened to me, but at how close I'd come to losing my book. I was thinking of it as "My book" a lot now, and I realized that it just wasn't safe to carry it around with me like that. I only had one copy, and if anything happened to that, I doubted I'd be able to rewrite the whole thing from scratch.

Soda and Steve came back into the garage just before Darry arrived to drive me and Soda home. His face went dark when he saw me, but I knew that, like Steve, it wasn't me he was mad at. He yelled at me anyway and demanded to know why I couldn't ever use my head. I've learned, though, that when he yells like that it's just because he's scared, so I didn't yell back, and after a minute he calmed down. He cools off a lot faster than he used to.

It was pretty silent on the drive home. After we pulled up in the driveway and Darry shut off the engine he said, "Ponyboy, I don't want you going anywhere alone. Not _anywhere_ you hear?"

"I hear," I said, "and I wasn't planning on it. I don't exactly enjoy being jumped. But what am I going to do about my sessions with Miss Meriwether?"

"Either you wait at the school until I can come pick you up, or you get Two-Bit to drive you."

"Two-Bit'll do it," I said hastily. "It's not like he's got anything better to do."

Darry poured the peroxide over my hands when we got inside, but he talked to me quietly while he did it, trying to take my mind off the stinging. I never noticed before how often he does stuff like that; all I used to think about was how he was always so rough.

For the next week, I worked on rewriting like Miss Meriwether had told me to, but I also worked on making a copy. I wasn't about to risk the same thing happening again, even though I wouldn't be walking by myself anymore.

By the time Wednesday rolled around, I had managed to recopy the entire first notebook, so I left the old, beer stained one at home. I wished I could leave the others because I was embarrassed for Miss Meriwether to see them like that, but we might need them.

She didn't say anything about the beer stains, but she did comment on the clean notebook. "Is this a new copy?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am. I…I thought it would be good to have an extra copy, in case something ever happened to the first one. An accident or something."

She looked at me thoughtfully and I tried not to squirm. I knew that the bruise around my eye was still plenty purple and wondered if Miss Meriwether was putting two and two together. The story about me getting jumped was all over the school, of course, but I was never quite sure how much of the hallway gossip teachers heard. On the one hand, it couldn't really matter if she did know, seeing as she had read my entire book and knew everything that had happened with the Socs last fall. But still, I didn't like the thought of her asking about what had happened to me last week. I didn't want her feeling sorry for me or anything.

But she didn't comment on my bruise or ask what kind of an accident I was thinking of. Instead she said, "That's an excellent idea. I wish one of us had thought of it sooner, because I could have saved you the work of copying over this first notebook." She stood up and gathered the notebooks together. "Come along, Ponyboy, we're going to make copies on the Xerox machine."

Feeling a little bewildered, I followed her down the hall and into the school office. The only reason I ever went in there was if I was in trouble for fighting, and I was half scared the secretary would kick me out. But Miss Meriwether called, "Hello, Nancy!" as she breezed past, and the secretary just nodded and smiled at us.

The Xerox machine was in a room full of paper supplies. It was kind of dim and cramped in there, and the air reeked of ink. It was worth it though – that machine could copy a page of my writing in about a fiftieth of the time it took me to do it by hand. Miss Meriwether decided to make two copies of each page so that I could take one set home with me and she could keep the other in her desk. That way, we'd be doubly secure.

Even though it was a lot faster than handwriting, it was still kind of tedious work - it took awhile for the machine to spit out each copy, and then she had to open the machine up and turn the page. So after I'd watched in silence for a few minutes, I said shyly, "I've been reading your book that you gave me."

She glanced over at me. "What do you think of it?"

"I like it a lot!" I hastily assured her. "It's real interesting. You know, the way the two characters, William and James, just hate each other for no good reason but they can't get away from each other? It reminds a little bit of the way it is here, with the Socs and the greasers."

"I thought you'd see that," Miss Meriwether said softly, turning to a new page in the notebook.

"I was wondering – I know things are rough all over – so I was wondering if your book is a true story, like mine."

She didn't answer right away, but let the machine make two more copies before she turned and looked me full in the face. "Ponyboy, after I read your book, I felt like I'd shared a lot of your secrets, so now I'm going to tell you one of mine. The story isn't a true story, but the characters are based on real people. The white man in the book, James? He was my father. And William is my illegitimate half brother. His mother was black."

I was stunned. I would never have guessed that Miss Meriwether had anything like that in her family. She seemed like she should come from a beautiful world where everything was perfect, like the Socs. Then I remembered what Cherry had told me and what I'd seen for myself – Socs had problems I'd never even dreamed of.

"Almost no one knows that, not even my editor, so I'd appreciate it if…"

"I won't tell anyone," I hastily assured her. "I promise."

"Thank you, Ponyboy." She smiled, not her wide, sunshine smile, but one full of sadness.

"Did they really hate each other, like in the book?" I asked.

She nodded. "Yes, for many years they did. But my father passed away two years ago, and before he died, he and Tad made their peace."

"Tad's your brother's real name?"

"Yes."

"I'm real glad that your father didn't die with them still hating each other. Does that mean the book has a happy ending?"

She quirked an eyebrow at me. "I never give away the endin' to a book. You're just goin' to have to keep readin'."

We both laughed then, and talked about other things while she finished the copies, but I had a warm glow inside of me that refused to die down. Miss Meriwether trusted me enough to tell me an important secret – I liked to think it was because she knew that I would understand. We were both writers, after all.

Two-Bit picked me up that day, and none of our gang had any run-ins with the Socs that week, although Tim Shepherd got into a bit of a tussle with a group of them one night outside the Dingo. He pulled a blade and they backed off before anyone got hurt. But it was evident that the hostilities were back on, and it was only a matter of time before something big went down.

The next Wednesday just so happened to be Valentine's. All day girls were giggling as they found heart shaped notes shoved in their lockers and books. Some of them went around with ostentatious armloads of chocolates and flowers. Myself, I didn't see a whole lot of sense in the holiday, especially since I didn't have a girl and wasn't interested in getting one. Mainly it seemed like an excuse for people to act dumb.

When I arrived in Miss Meriwether's classroom, that Cindy girl was there again, only this time she had her father with her. He was one of those middle aged men that are always trying to appear younger than they are by combing their hair in the latest fashion and wearing clothes that are more appropriate for college boys. I had to admit that he wasn't bad looking with shiny black hair and clear cut features, but there was something slick about him that I just didn't like. He was blazing this hundred watt smile as he chatted with Miss Meriwether, but all the while his eyes were going over her, and I knew exactly what he was thinking.

"Cindy just absolutely loves your class, and I knew she'd be horribly disappointed when she forgot these Valentine's cookies she labored over for you, so I thought I'd better bring them along and take the chance to meet the famous Miss Meriwether."

"That's very kind of you, Mr. Brady," she said politely, accepting the plate he held out to her, but I could tell she wasn't taken in by his act because she was wearing her polite smile, not her real one.

I wondered sarcastically why he hadn't let Cindy do the delivering since she was the one who had worked so hard to bake them. She just stood there by her father's side, not saying a word but grinning and nodding like some kind of crazy robot.

Miss Meriwether carefully placed the plate in a basket by her desk, and I could see that it was full with all kinds of candy and baked goods. For some reason, girls always think they have to give junk to the teachers on Valentine's Day, and in Miss Meriwether's case, that had even extended to a few of the boys. With my own eyes I had seen Jim Baron hand over a box of chocolates and mutter something about his mother. I reckon Jim's mother would have been pretty surprised had she heard him.

Mr. Brady glanced over and saw me standing in the doorway, and something unpleasant flickered over his face. _Greaser_, I could practically hear him thinking, even though the shine on his head suggested he used plenty of hair oil himself. "I see one of your students is here for some tutoring, so I won't keep you any longer. I just wanted to say that I'm glad you've moved to our town." He shook her hand goodbye, holding it about twice as long as necessary, and then he and Cindy left, neither one of them sending me a second glance.

I saw Miss Meriwether unobtrusively wiping her hand on the side of her skirt. She caught me watching her and looked embarrassed, then shrugged. "It takes all kinds," she said with a little laugh, and then we got to work.

_To Be Continued_

**A/N** This chapter was longer than the first two, and I'd appreciate it if you all could mention in your reviews whether you prefer this length or something a little shorter. Thanks!


	4. The Storm

**A/N** Large thank you's to my three faithful reviewers! The consensus seemed to be that longer chapters are better, so I'll try to stick to that. What that will translate into, though, is longer time between updates. I hope that's a fair trade.

**Disclaimer** I don't think I've actually put a disclaimer on this story yet, so I thought I'd go ahead and state the obvious – If you recognize it, I don't own it.

**Chapter 4**

When I finished my tutoring session that day, I found Two-Bit waiting for me just inside the front doors of the school. "It got too cold out there in the parking lot," he explained. "I think there's a storm blowing in or something."

He was right. It was cold enough to freeze Hades outside, and we ran over to his car and hopped in to get out of the biting wind. Two-Bit stuck the key in the ignition and turned it; the engine sputtered a little and then died. He tried again with the same result. Cursing, he hopped out and flipped up the hood.

Two-Bit wasn't nearly as good with engines as Soda and Steve, but even if he had been, I would've bet there was nothing he could do. It was just too cold for that klunker to start up. I got out to see if there was anything I could do to help, but as I had suspected, there wasn't. We had just about decided to hike for the DX and hope that Soda was still there, when a bundled figure came up to us.

"Car trouble, boys?"

If she hadn't had such a distinctive accent, I never would have recognized Miss Meriwether. She was bundled from head to toe in coat, scarf, hat, ear muffs, gloves, and boots, and she looked ready for an arctic expedition.

"It's too cold for the engine," I explained, jamming my hands deep in my pockets. I wished I had a thicker coat.

She glanced up at the sky. "You'd better let me give you a ride home. There's supposed to be a big snow storm blowin' in tonight."

A bitterly cold gust of wind decided us, and we hurried behind her to her Chevy Impala. Two-Bit and I got in the back seat together. I kept expecting him to try and flirt with Miss Meriwether, now that he'd finally got a chance to talk to her, but I guess he was too cold, because aside from offering some directions he was pretty quiet.

She dropped Two-Bit off first, since he lived closer to the school, and then drove toward my neighborhood. Before we got halfway there, snow started falling, and by the time we got to the end of my street, it was blowing so thick you could hardly see the road. I had to squint to make out which house was mine. Part of me was glad that the snow hid how shabby the house was, but the other part was worried. "Miss Meriwether, you'd better come in. I don't think it's safe to drive in this."

"I'll be all right," she said cheerfully. "I want to get home before the roads get clogged up."

A mighty blast of wind hit the car, rocking it slightly. "Miss Meriwether, I really think you should come in. In a couple of minutes, I don't think you'll be able to see the road at all. Please come in."

She shook her head obstinately. "If I get stuck here for the storm, who knows how long I'd have to impose on y'all? You hurry on in now."

I was getting more worried by the second. Her windshield wipers could barely even keep the snow off the glass, and I was certain she'd end up frozen in a ditch if she insisted on trying to drive. Just then, somebody tapped on the front passenger window, and with relief I saw Darry. Throwing open my door, I jumped out. "Darry, Miss Meriwether can't drive home in this weather!"

He nodded and pushed me toward the house. "Get inside!"

I took a step in that direction, but waited to make sure Miss Meriwether would come along. Darry stuck his head in my door and ordered, "You can't drive in this snow. Come on into the house."

When Darry uses that tone of voice, people usually obey him without asking questions. Miss Meriwether swung open her door and climbed out. The three of us hurried up the walk, and Soda, who must have been watching from the window, swung open the door just as we got there.

We stood in the entrance to the living room, stamping the snow off our boots and trying to brush it off our coats and heads.

"Soda, take Miss Meriwether's coat," Darry ordered, tugging off his own.

I was busy defrosting myself, and I didn't even think about where all this was about to lead until I heard Soda's soft exclamation. "Well I'll be d…" He choked it off just in time.

Looking over, I saw that Miss Meriwether had unbuttoned her coat and taken off her hat, scarf, and ear muffs. All that bundling had messed up her hair some, and lots of golden wisps were curling down her cheeks and the back of her neck. Her cheeks were rosy with the cold, and she looked about the prettiest I'd ever seen her. Soda was staring, his eyes as wide as though he'd just seen an extraterrestrial being land on the planet. Nervously, I glanced over at Darry. He was staring too, only he looked pained, like King Kong had just punched him in the stomach.

Fortunately, Miss Meriwether was still busy trying to get out of all her winter gear without dropping anything, so she didn't see my brothers acting like they'd just lost all their marbles. Soda finally came to his senses and took her scarf and coat. She beamed at him, the whole sunshine smile.

"You must be Sodapop. Ponyboy has told me so much about you," she exclaimed in her soft, drawly voice.

Sodapop, who could instantly make friends with Godzilla, beamed back. "He's told us a lot about you too, although he didn't mention…uh…"

He glanced over at me, and so did Darry. Soda was barely containing his laughter. Darry looked like he wanted nothing more than to skin me alive, right then and there.

She was still waiting for Soda to finish his sentence, so he hastily supplied, "That you'd be visiting us today. I would've cleaned up a little more." He cast a rueful glance around the living room, which was scattered with newspapers, glasses, and various pieces of laundry.

Miss Meriwether chuckled. "I assure you it was equally unexpected on my end." She transferred her gaze from Soda to Darry. "Mr. Curtis, I must apologize for imposin' on you like this. If I'd had any idea that storm would hit so fast I would have brought Ponyboy home much earlier."

I wondered how Darry liked being called _Mistuh Cuhtis_. He looked a little stiff but said politely, "Nobody was expecting the storm to be this bad." After a moment's hesitation he added, "I'm just glad you made it here and didn't get stuck out on the road somewhere."

The wind shrieked around the corners of the house and Miss Meriwether shivered. "So am I," she replied fervently.

Soda hastily cleared off a seat on the couch for our unexpected guest, and Darry muttered at me to clean up while he started supper. I scurried around snatching up shirts and socks and dishes, while Soda plunked himself down on the couch next to Miss Meriwether. I could hear her laughing clear back in the bedroom, and I guessed that they were pretty good friends already, which made sense, I guess. Soda doesn't know a stranger, and Miss Meriwether practically knew him already from reading my story.

It suddenly occurred to me that she more or less knew Darry too, although he wouldn't know that. I'd turned in the theme to Mr. Syme as soon as I'd finished it, and he and Miss Meriwether were the only two people who had read it. Darry had no idea about the kinds of personal stuff about him that I'd put in there, and I had a sneaking suspicion that he wouldn't be any too happy if he did find out. Even though I hadn't been to church in months, I took a moment to pray sincerely that the subject wouldn't come up.

By the time I finished tidying up the living room, the smells of frying meat were drifting from the kitchen. Miss Meriwether started to get up from the couch. "I should see if there's anythin' I can do to help your brother."

"Uh, Darry likes to cook by himself," I said hastily. Actually, the three of us worked pretty well together, but I was almost positive that Darry would not want Miss Meriwether in there.

She looked doubtful but sat back down. "If you're sure."

"He's sure," Soda assured her, and the two of us exchanged looks. Darry was clearly in a mood, and we weren't about to do anything to aggravate him. "Why do you talk so funny?" Soda suddenly demanded.

Miss Meriwether's eyebrows flew upwards. "Sodapop Curtis, I do _not_ talk funny. It's you Yankees who always speak like you've got a stick shoved up your…" She suddenly clapped both hands over her mouth, her blue eyes wide.

Soda fell off the couch he was laughing so hard. Miss Meriwether sat straight up with her lips pressed firmly together, but her eyes were sparkling and I could tell she was trying her hardest not to laugh out loud too. Soda was still trying to get himself under control when Darry called for me to come and set the table, and a few minutes later we were all sitting down to eat.

It wasn't anything fancy, but we all ate as if we were half starved. Miss Meriwether had two hamburgers, I had three, and Darry and Soda had four apiece. Afterward, she tried to help clear the table, but Soda and I asked her to sit back down and let us take care of it.

So Miss Meriwether and Darry sat at the table with cups of coffee and discussed the weather. It wasn't nearly as lively as the stuff she and Soda had talked about earlier, but she seemed interested nevertheless, her eyes intent on his face as she asked about what kind of storms we usually got and how much snow and whether we had any trouble with flooding in the spring. Darry answered all her questions politely, but he was still guarded, and I couldn't figure out why. Hadn't he figured out yet what a nice person she was?

When we were done cleaning up, we went back into the living room. I wasn't sure about what would happen next. Usually Darry had taken off for his evening shift by now, only he couldn't because of the snow, and Soda would be out with Steve, but wasn't for the same reason. And I should be doing my homework. I bet that school would be canceled the next day, though. "Maybe we should turn on the radio and see what the news is about the storm," I suggested, and Darry flipped the switch.

There was more static than usual, but we could still hear the evening news. All schools in our county had been closed for at least tomorrow, and nothing much was happening anywhere else except snow, snow, snow.

I shifted restlessly as the program drew to an end. I desperately wanted a cigarette, but I felt uncomfortable about smoking in front of Miss Meriwether. I had never smoked in front of my mom, although she always smelled it on my clothes and scolded me for it, and somehow I felt like I owed Miss Meriwether the same courtesy, since I was pretty sure she didn't smoke. I decided that now was as good a time as any to start cutting back for track, and I had made up my mind to an evening of privation when I had a sudden idea. "Miss Meriwether, will you read out loud to us?"

She looked a little surprised but replied, "Sure, Ponyboy, if that's what you want."

"Just a second." I darted into the bedroom and came back out with _Gone With the Wind_. "I want to know what it sounds like with a real southern person reading it."

She took the book from me and looked at it curiously. "You know, I've never actually read this."

I was amazed. "You're kidding!" I exclaimed, wondering how anyone could live in the south and not read _Gone with the Wind_.

"Nope. I did see the movie though. I practically bawled my eyes out right there in the theater."

"The movie was pretty good," I agreed, "but the book was better."

"What part would you like me to read?"

I thought for a moment. I knew I didn't want the part about the gallant gentlemen riding off to certain death. That was too serious for tonight. "The part where Scarlet visits Rhett in prison to try and get money out of him," I decided, taking the book back and finding the place for her.

Miss Meriwether began to read, and it was just as good as I had hoped. Even though her voice was soft, she put lots of expression into the words, and with her authentic accent, I could practically _see_ Scarlet and Rhett in that jail.

She read for an entire hour. At one point, I glanced over and saw Soda sitting spellbound, which I would have had to see to believe. My brother can't sit still for _anything_, but something about the way Miss Meriwether read had caught him just the same as if she had put a curse on him. I couldn't tell what Darry was thinking. He sat motionless back in the shadows where his face was hidden. I wondered if he'd fallen asleep.

At last she put the book down. "If I read anymore, I won't be able to talk for a week."

"That was nice, thank you," I told her.

"Yeah, real nice," Soda agreed. Then he bounded to his feet, as if all that sitting had suddenly caught up with him. "I'd better go see if there's chocolate cake for tomorrow. I seem to remember a certain someone gobbling down the last piece this morning." He gave me a gentle kick as he passed me. I heard him rummaging around in the refrigerator and then he called, "Nope, no cake! I'll have to mix one up."

Miss Meriwether looked at me. "Do you really eat chocolate cake every morning?"

"Pretty much," I answered, remembering that I had written something about that somewhere in my theme.

"Well, what's wrong with cake for breakfast after all?" she mused. "It's got eggs, milk, flour – same ingredients that go into pancakes."

Darry suddenly laughed, destroying my theory about him being asleep. "Miss Meriwether, you should have been here when Soda and Pony were trying to talk me into it. They could have used you on their side."

I snorted. "I seem to recall that we did pretty well on our own. At least, you caved in pretty quick."

Whatever retort he was going to make was cut off by Soda's anguished yell. "There's no sugar!" He came back into the living room and glared accusingly at Darry. "We're out of sugar."

"I know," Darry said calmly. "We were supposed to go shopping this evening."

"No sugar, no cake," Soda mourned.

Miss Meriwether suggested, "There's a whole basket full of chocolate in my car if you can dig it out." She cocked her head, listening. "I do declare, I believe the wind has stopped."

We all listened and, sure enough, the sound of the wind was gone. A peek out the window proved that the snow had also stopped falling except for a few lazy flakes.

"Do you think the plows will be through soon?" she asked hopefully. "I may be able to make it home before midnight."

"The plows won't be through here until morning," Darry said quietly. "And I have a feeling the storm's not over yet. A lot of times there's kind of a lull in the middle. I'm afraid you're stuck here for the night."

"Oh dear," Miss Meriwether murmured. "I am sorry, Mr. Curtis. I appear to be causing you a good deal of trouble."

"No trouble," Darry replied evenly. "Soda, you going to dig that chocolate out before the wind comes back?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" Soda barked, snapping a mock salute.

Miss Meriwether got out her keys while he put on his coat, and we all watched from the window as he waded down the walk toward the buried car.

"Glory, there must be two feet of snow out there," Darry muttered.

Just as Soda made it back to the house with the loaded basket, the wind picked back up as suddenly as though someone had flipped a switch. "Hoooeee!" he panted as he set down the basket and pulled off his coat. "You have a whole Valentine's store in here."

"More than thirty students gave me gifts," explained Miss Meriwether, shaking her head. "Apparently they want to make me as round as a basketball."

The thought that her shape was fine just the way it was flashed through my head, and I bet it was going through my brothers' minds too, but my mother had raised us well, and we all held our tongues, even Soda.

We were sorting through the mountain of treats when the electricity went out. The three of us boys swore in unison, and suddenly cut ourselves off mid-curse, rapidly followed by jumbled apologies.

"It's quite all right, gentlemen. I share your sentiments," Miss Meriwether assured us wryly.

Darry took charge – he's good at that. "Everyone stay still while I find the flashlight." He trod sure-footedly in the dark toward the kitchen. We kept a flashlight, as well as a stash of candles and matches, on top of the refrigerator. Blackouts aren't all that uncommon in our town in winter. It wasn't long before the yellow beam was shining into the room. Darry deposited three candles and a box of matches on the coffee table. "Soda, you get the blankets. Pony, find something warm for Miss Meriwether to sleep in, and make sure it's clean. Keep all the doors to the living room shut to hold in as much heat as possible. I'm going down to the basement for wood."

We do have a fireplace in our living room. We barely ever use it because firewood is an unnecessary expense, but throughout the year we collect pieces of old furniture and crates and things just in case something like this happens.

I took a candle with me into Darry's bedroom, since the clean laundry usually ends up in there. Rummaging through a basket, I found a pair of sweat pants that belonged to Soda and a sweat shirt that was Darry's. They would both probably be too big for her, especially the shirt, but I thought that anything of mine would be too tight. I pulled the blankets off the bed and went back out, carefully shutting the door behind me.

"I got Darry's blankets," I said to Soda who was just coming out of our bedroom, his arms full. Miss Meriwether was sitting on the edge of the couch, her hands folded in her lap and her eyes looking huge in the candlelight. "You'd better change into these. They ain't pretty, but they're clean and they'll keep you warm," I said apologetically, handing her the clothes.

"Thank you, Pony," she said quietly, and went into the bathroom to change.

A pounding came from the basement door, and Soda ran to open it. Darry came in with his arms heaped high with crate slats and pieces of busted chair. He dumped it on the side of the hearth and started crumpling newspaper to get the blaze going. "Pull the couch over here in front of the fireplace," he directed.

Soda and I did as he asked, and then we made it up with blankets and pillows for Miss Meriwether. After that we made a pallet on the floor with the rest of the blankets. We had just finished and the fire was beginning to crackle, when Miss Meriwether came back out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. Darry's sweatshirt hung down almost to her knees and the sleeves ended several inches below her finger tips. She had taken her hair of its bun and put it into a braid that hung down over her shoulder. I hadn't realized how long her hair was.

She murmured, "Thank you very much," when Soda offered her the couch with a flourish. I suddenly realized how awkward this must be for her – having to spend the night with three strange boys. I hoped she knew that she could trust us. Not one of us would have laid a finger on her to do anything other than help her.

"It'll be cold, but we won't freeze," Darry commented. "We've got plenty of wood for tonight."

We all settled down in our blankets, Soda between Darry and me, and I stared at the flickering flames, absently wondering what everyone else was doing tonight. I knew Two-Bit had got home safe, but I hoped that Steve's old man hadn't chosen tonight to kick him out. Briefly, I thought of Johnny and of how worried I'd of been about him on a night like this if he wasn't at our house already. I missed Johnny, I thought sleepily. He would have thought Miss Meriwether was real tuff. And that me writing a book was even tuffer.

I kind of drifted in and out of sleep all night. Even with the fire and blankets and sleeping right next to Soda, it was still cold. Every once in a while, a piece of wood in the fire would snap and jerk me awake. I was aware of Darry, getting up every so often to feed the fire, and once he went down to the basement for more wood. When I did doze, I had funny dreams about climbing mountains made out of chocolate. Darry was lighting a fire, and I shouted at him to stop because it would melt the mountain. Then I realized it wasn't Darry but Dally, and he was bound and determined to melt that whole mountain down.

When I woke up for good, pale gray light was streaming through the windows, and beneath my ear I could hear the rumble of the furnace. The electricity was back. I opened my eyes and saw that Darry was up again. He was standing next to the couch, looking down at Miss Meriwether, and there was a funny expression on his face, a kind of longing. In a flash, I realized why he had been so distant to her the night before. It wasn't because he didn't know how nice she was; it was because he realized just exactly how nice she was. If our parents hadn't died, if Darry had been able to go to college and get a real career, this was the kind of girl he would have been interested in. Girls who were educated, sweet, and pretty, who loved to laugh and were good sports when the electricity went out. But things were what they were, and Darry would never let himself be interested in that kind of a girl, or if he were, he wouldn't show it. He wouldn't think he had anything to offer her.

After a minute, he kind of shook his head and went into the bathroom to take a shower. I tried to doze back off, but it was no good. I was thoroughly awake. After about fifteen minutes of trying, I gave it up and crawled out of the nest of blankets, leaving Soda still fast asleep.

I stretched and yawned and found myself standing by the couch, looking down at Miss Meriwether sleeping, just like Darry had. She lay on her side, one hand tucked beneath her cheek and her braid dangling down over her nose. She looked about twelve years old, which added another piece of evidence to my theory that people are younger when they're sleeping. I heard Darry come out of the bathroom, so I went to take my own shower before breakfast. When I came out, I could smell coffee brewing from the kitchen, and Soda was awake, standing in that exact same spot by the couch, looking down.

"I dunno why girls are so pretty when they're asleep," he said softly as I came up.

I just shrugged. Soda had more experience in that line than I did, so if he didn't know the answer, I wasn't going to take a shot at it. Just then Miss Meriwether stirred, sighed, and opened her eyes. She blinked for a minute, then saw Soda standing next to her. "Good morning," he said politely.

She gave him a sleepy smile. "Mornin', Sunshine."

Soda glanced over at me, but I could only shrug. I'd never heard her call anyone by anything but their proper name before. Slowly, she pushed off the blankets and sat up. Her eyes were definitely open, but they were a little unfocused, as if she hadn't remembered yet that she was supposed to use them for seeing.

"Good morning, Miss Meriwether," I echoed Soda.

She looked puzzled, and it took her a minute to figure out where the voice was coming from. Then she repeated that dazed smile and murmured, "Hello, Cricket."

Soda choked, and I knew without looking that he was trying to hold in his laughter. I couldn't help smiling myself as I asked her, "Do you want some breakfast?"

"Whatever you like, Cricket," she said agreeably, her eyes still unfocused.

"Let's go on into the kitchen, then," I suggested.

"All right," she said, but made no move to get up.

Soda dropped onto the blankets on the floor and buried his face in my pillow, his shoulders shaking. I was having a hard time staying solemn myself, but I put my hand under Miss Meriwether's elbow and helped her to her feet. She followed me docilely into the kitchen and sat down in the chair I pulled out for her.

Darry was standing over the stove, frying eggs when we came, so he missed the fact that she hadn't exactly walked in under her own guidance. "Good morning," he said, glancing over at us.

"Morning, Darry," I responded, pretty sure that such a distant voice wasn't going to register with Miss Meriwether. It didn't.

Darry got a mug and a cup out of the cupboard and poured coffee in one and chocolate milk in the other. He gave me the milk and set the coffee in front of Miss Meriwether. She looked vaguely bewildered, and then she looked up. She had to look up quite a ways, since Darry is 6'2, but when she finally found his face, she smiled her sleepy smile. "Thank you, Darlin'."

Darry looked considerably startled, and I explained, "I don't think she's awake yet." As a sort of experiment I asked, "Miss Meriwether, why don't you drink your coffee?"

With surprise, she focused again on the coffee cup. "Oh, is that mine?"

"Yeah, it's yours," I gasped, before I had to put my face in my arms to smother my laughter.

When I looked back up, Miss Meriwether was working hard on finding her hands in the huge sleeves of Darry's sweatshirt. She was softly patting her right arm with her left one, as though she was certain she'd left a hand in there somewhere. It took her about a minute to figure it out, and me and Darry just watched her. I kept being on the verge of busting out laughing, and Darry's mouth was starting to curve upward – he had this gleam in his eyes that said he was amused but he didn't know if he should show it.

About the time Miss Meriwether found her hands and picked up her coffee, Soda came into the kitchen. I guess he'd gotten tired of laughing out there by himself. Darry went back to cooking eggs, and Soda plopped down in the other chair next to Miss Meriwether. She was just sitting there with her eyes closed and the mug held right up under her nose, like she'd rather smell her coffee than drink it.

"Miss Meriwether," Soda began in a very serious voice that he never uses unless he's planning mischief, "I was wondering whether you'd ever considered dealing blackjack in Las Vegas."

"Mmmmhmmm," she murmured against the rim of her cup.

"Sodapop," Darry said warningly.

Soda ignored him. "You see, I think we two should run away together. You can make us a fortune at the tables, and I'll drive race cars to keep myself busy."

"Whatever you like, Sunshine," she said obligingly.

Soda was dissolving into one of his fits of laughter when Darry thumped him on top of the head. "Ow!"

"Be polite, Sodapop, or you can shovel the driveway all by yourself," our big brother threatened.

We had our usual breakfast of ham, eggs, and toast, and instead of chocolate cake we had a plate of cupcakes out of Miss Meriwether's basket. There wasn't much talking – we were too busy eating and casting sideways glances at Miss Meriwether to see if she'd do anything else interesting. She ate slowly, cutting her ham into precise little bites, and when her plate was about half clear, she gave a little sigh and sat up straight, looking alert. "My, I never can seem to wake up until I've had breakfast. You are a fine cook, Mr. Curtis."

She was finally awake, and she apparently had no memory of anything she'd said since she'd gotten up.

The snow plow rumbled down our street while we were still eating, and by the time we had the table cleared, our street was clear as well. Miss Meriwether, dressed in her own clothes again, dumped most of the chocolate out of her basket. "I have to leave this here. If I take it home, I'll make myself sick."

"We'll put it to good use," Soda promised.

Darry went out to brush the snow off her car, and came back in as she was tying her scarf. She stood there, bundled up again so that you could hardly see her face, and looked at the three of us. "I must thank you all again for your hospitality. I…I feel so rude askin' this after ya'll have been so gracious, but…would you mind not mentionin' that you had to put me up for the night? It would be awkward for me at school, if, well, if rumors started."

I remembered my thoughts from the night before about how uncomfortable the whole thing must have been for her. "It's all right, Miss Meriwether. We understand."

"I truly appreciate it," she said simply.

Darry picked up her basket and we all walked her out to her car. It started up after only a couple of tries, and with one last wave she drove away.

Soda gave me a gentle shove. "Cricket."

I pushed him back. "Sunshine."

In all the excitement of the night, I had forgotten about the lies I'd told about my English teacher, but Soda and Darry exchanged one swift glance over my head, and then they tackled me into the snow. I struggled, but I wasn't any match at all for the two of them, and pretty soon they were tickling me so hard I couldn't breathe. "Stop!" I wheezed. "No air!"

At last they relented, and since the three of us were now soaked, we went back inside, but I wasn't off the hook yet. They marched me over to a chair and then stood towering over me like some kind of CIA interrogators.

"All right, Pony," Soda said sternly. "Confess. Why'd you lie to us about Miss Meriwether?"

"I just try not to look at her," Darry mimicked. "She's as homely as a monkey's uncle. That one ought to grow you a nose as long as Pinocchio's."

I sighed. "I get enough remarks about tutoring with her from the guys at school. I didn't need you two rubbing it in when I'm out of school. Besides," I smirked up at them. "You shoulda seen your faces when she pulled her hat off."

That earned me another tickle torture session, but it was worth it.

_To Be Continued_

**A/N** A fairly fluffy chapter – I hope you enjoyed it! Speaking of opinions, if you've actually read this far and haven't reviewed yet, why not drop a little four word review (one word per chapter) and let me know what you think?


	5. The Dance

**A/N** Wow, thank you all so much for the fabulous review response last chapter! It's always great to get feedback, but it was especially cheering last week because it was finals week. Hurrah for summer!

**Chapter 5**

Things were pretty normal for the next few weeks. In fact, if Soda and I hadn't called each other Cricket and Sunshine once in a while, I might have started wondering whether I'd just dreamed the night of the storm. Neither of us had the nerve to call Darry Darlin'.

Track tryouts came, but I still hadn't completely recovered from everything that had happened last fall, plus I hadn't cut back on smoking as much as I'd been planning. What that means is that I didn't make the team, but I didn't mind as much as I thought I would. I had plenty else to do.

I was getting on like a house afire with my editing and revising. In fact, Miss Meriwether said that if I kept going at this rate, I'd have enough manuscript done that she could take it and show it to her agent when she went traveling over Spring Break.

Our tutoring sessions were one of the best parts of my week, but one thing about Miss Meriwether was really starting to bug me, although it wasn't her, exactly. It was that Mr. Brady. Twice, he was in the classroom talking to her when I arrived on Wednesdays, that brainless Cindy grinning like a fool beside him. I had seen him in the hallways after the last bell on other days, too, and I guess I knew where he was headed. It really burned me up. I guess all the tutoring, plus her getting stuck at my house during the snowstorm, made me feel like I had some kind of special claim on her. Logically, I knew that wasn't so, but I couldn't help feeling that way, and I didn't want any slick Jack with wandering eyes getting too close to her.

The second, well it was really the third, time I found him in the classroom, I didn't hang back in the doorway but went in and stood beside Miss Meriwether behind her desk. I looked him straight in the eye and gave him my toughest, coldest, hood-in-training glare. I wanted him to know that somebody was on to his game and was watching him, even if it was only a fourteen-year-old kid.

He looked startled at first, and then nervous, and then he glared right back at me, before turning an oozy, oily smile on Miss Meriwether. "I'll see you soon, Seraphina," he said, giving her one of his way too long handshakes.

He had called her by her first name. I was so flaming mad, I could hardly see straight when I went to get my chair, and I set it down with more force than necessary. I'd been getting more and more curious about what those initials on the cover of the book stood for, and I admit I'd kind of been keeping my eyes and ears open, but up till now I'd only heard her addressed as Miss Meriwether. Everything with her name written on it just had those two letters, S.E. I'd wanted to know, but I sure hadn't wanted to find out this way.

Miss Meriwether didn't say anything after I sat down, and I guess it was pretty obvious something was bothering me. I scowled down at my hands, clenched around the knees of my jeans, and then I blurted out, "Miss Meriwether, can I ask you something? I mean, it's kind of personal."

"You can ask me anything you like, Ponyboy," she said gently. "I don't promise I'll answer you, but I don't mind you askin'."

"What do your initials stand for?"

She laughed. "Is that all? S. E. stands for Seraphina Emmeline. Seraphina Emmeline Meriwether." She made a face. "Isn't that the most ridiculous name you've ever heard?"

"I don't know. Seraphina's kind of pretty. It's like seraph, an angel, right?"

"I suppose. But angelic or not, I still don't like it. That's why only my mother and distant acquaintances ever use it. My friends generally call me Sara."

I felt like a giant dark cloud had suddenly blown away, and spring sunshine was beating down on my head. She'd just as good as told me that she did not consider Mr. Brady a friend.

"Now it's my turn to ask a personal question," she said.

I grinned at her. "Shoot."

"Where on earth did your parents get the names Ponyboy and Sodapop?"

"In my father's family, the tradition is that the oldest son always gets named Darrel. So Darry, he's really about the fifth or sixth Darrel Curtis. But my father thought that one inherited name in a family was enough – he said that you got to live up to a name, and he didn't want me and Soda to have to share our names with anyone we might have to live up to, so he named us after things that make life good. He always said, 'Live up to the good things in life, and you'll do just fine.'"

I fell silent, remembering my laughing, original, vibrantly alive father.

Miss Meriwether looked thoughtful, and then she said, "Poor Darr'l. That's a lot of ancestors to live up to."

I shrugged. "Nah, they were mostly track layers and horse thieves. He's gotta do more living down than living up."

She looked serious. "I guess most of us have to do some of that. My ancestors were slave owners, so I don't have much to be proud of either."

I thought about the book that she had written and the one she was having us read in class now. It was an autobiography by a black man named Frederick Douglass who had been a slave before he escaped north. Some of the descriptions in there made my blood run cold, especially when he described the whippings of women slaves. That's something none of us Curtis boys can stand – a woman getting beaten. "It really bothers you, doesn't it, Miss Meriwether, the way some white people treat black people."

"The way a lot of white people treat black people," she corrected me. "The evils perpetrated against the citizens of color in this country did not end with the abolition of slavery. And yes, it does bother me. Now. I'm ashamed to say that it didn't always. The truth is, Ponyboy, that for sixteen years I didn't give a _damn_ whether or not black people could be punished for drinkin' out of the same water fountain as me or not givin' me their seat on the bus. I didn't care at all – until I found out that I had a brother who was one of them. My father…my father did a terrible thing to his mother. And she had no recourse, no way to force any kind of support out of him. There was no court that would listen to her case, and no lawful repercussions for him whatsoever."

"But things aren't like that anymore," I broke in. "I mean, they changed the law a couple years ago, didn't they?"

"Yes," she agreed. "Things aren't like that anymore. Thank God…and Dr. King. But just because the law has changed, it doesn't mean that people have. That's why I think your book is so important, Ponyboy. It says that even when people are different on the outside, the important things are the same on the inside, and that is something we desperately need to learn."

"We all watch sunsets," I said softly and then asked, "What happened to your brother?"

"Despite everything, his mama raised him to be a good man. He's extremely intelligent and worked his way through college. When we finally found him, well, it took a couple of years, but he forgave us. And I stopped doing what was wrong and started doing what was right." She surprised me by suddenly throwing back her head and laughing, a long, melodious, joyful sound. "That's why I'm here, actually. Fervent supporters of Dr. King are not always particularly welcome in my hometown. My mother thought it might be healthier for me to work somewhere else for awhile once I got my teachin' certificate."

I thought a lot about that conversation in the following weeks. I'd never really considered issues of race – the few black people in our town kept to themselves – but what she'd said about the important things being the same on the inside stuck with me. I guessed it applied to anyone who was different from you, whether the difference was skin color, or money, or education, or how well you could play football.

Maybe the reason the whole subject was on my mind so much was because as the weather warmed up, the old feud with the Socs did too. Two-Bit got cornered by three of them down by the lot one night, but fortunately he had a new switchblade that he'd lifted just the week before, so they backed off before blood got drawn on either side. After that, Tim Shepard's gang and the Brumly outfit had a rumble with a couple of the social clubs, and things got ugly when chains appeared, even though they'd officially agreed to skin only. Two Socs went to the hospital, Tim spent a week in jail, and another hood I didn't know actually got sent to the state pen. I guess he already had a pretty long record with the fuzz.

At school, the tension was getting thicker. Greasers were sticking together in permanent knots to avoid ever being alone in a hallway, or worse, the locker room. It was like everyone was trying to make up for those couple of months after Johnny's death when we hadn't actively hated each other. Darry actually told Two-Bit to come into the school and pick me up so that I wouldn't have to walk through those empty hallways to the parking lot by myself.

It was a night in mid-March when the phone rang. I was closest so I picked it up. "Hello?"

"Is this the Curtis residence?"

I was surprised to hear the soft southern accent on the other end. "Miss Meriwether?"

"Hello, Ponyboy. How are you?"

"Fine." I was pretty sure she hadn't called to ask about my health, and I was right.

"Is your brother Darr'l available?"

"Yes, ma'am. Just a moment and I'll call him." I placed my hand over the mouthpiece and hollered, "Darry, phone!" I put the receiver back against my ear. "Uh, Miss Meriwether, I'm not in trouble, am I?"

She laughed, "Of course not."

"That's good. I mean, I couldn't think what I'd done, but sometimes…" I realized my big brother was hovering impatiently over my shoulder, and I hastily said, "Here's Darry." I handed him the phone, mouthing, "It's Miss Meriwether."

He looked at me inquiringly but I could only shrug as he lifted the receiver to his ear. "Hello?"

I hung around, hoping to catch on to what the conversation was about, but Darry's end of it wasn't too informative. At first he listened for a long time, and then he asked, "Are you sure that's a good idea?" He listened again, and said, "All right, what was the date again?" He scribbled something down on the back of an old envelope, and finished, "You're welcome…thank you, you too."

"What was that about?" I asked.

He cocked an eyebrow at me. "Nosy, aren't you?" But then he relented. "I've just been recruited as a chaperone for the Spring Fling."

"Really?" I asked, surprised. Darry's not exactly what you'd think of as the chaperone type. For one thing, he's only two years out of high school himself, and for another, he hangs out with greasers even if he doesn't look like one.

"Miss Meriwether thinks I'll be able to help keep fights from breaking out at the dance."

"Well she's right. People listen to you, Darry," I told him.

He looked at me kind of funny, and then he said, "Not Socs."

I don't go in much for dances. I don't have a girl to take, I don't dance very well, and even if I did, any of the girls I'd have cared to dance with probably would have turned me down. But the greasers always hang out at the dances in a bunch, I guess to prove to the Socs that it's our school too. Mostly we just stand in the corner and talk dirty about the girls and boast about what mama's boy we'd like to drag out behind the gym and teach a thing or two. I don't why we do this because it's not much fun. I guess it's just force of habit.

Anyway, Darry told me and Two-Bit to pass the word around school that Darrel Curtis said any greaser who started anything at the dance would have to answer to him. No one in their right mind wants my brother on their back, so the general consensus was ok, the greasers wouldn't start anything. If there was trouble, it would be the Socs' fault.

The night of the dance was clear, with a sky full of stars and a silver moon. It was warm enough that you only needed a jacket, and probably not even that if you were doing anything more than sitting still. It was a good night for a dance, but it was a good night for a rumble, too.

Darry and I were dressed pretty much alike in our nicest jeans and ironed shirts with collars. I don't even own a suit. I think Darry still has one, but the last time he wore it was at our parents' funeral. I also wore my hair carefully slicked back. It was at a real good length, and even though the brown dye job was still growing out, it looked pretty tuff, if I say so myself.

We had to get there a little early since Darry was chaperoning. The gym looked decent with banners, crepe paper, and silver streamers hung all over it. There was a long table with a punch bowl and plates of cookies on it. Mrs. Grunky, the history teacher, had already established herself behind the punch bowl. She would watch it like a hawk all night to make sure nothing ended up in there that wasn't supposed to be there.

We'd only just gotten into the gym when Miss Meriwether hurried up. I was relieved to see she was wearing a simple black dress that she could have worn to church just as well as a dance; I always think it's dumb when the chaperones get all dressed up like the dance is for them. Besides, she was still the prettiest teacher there. Shoot, I'd have bet a dozen packs of cigarettes that she'd be the best looking female there.

She offered her hand to Darry, smiling that sunshine smile of hers. "Mr. Curtis, thank you so much for helpin' us out. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it."

Darry was no Mr. Brady. He shook her hand and let it go, almost faster than was even polite. "It's no trouble."

"I won't presume to give you any instructions. I'm sure you know better than me what will be necessary."

Darry gave a faint smile, one that didn't quite reach his frozen eyes. I hadn't been able to figure out how he felt about being there. Was he pleased with the responsibility? Humiliated at being identified with the greasers? Angry because this reminded him of everything he'd had to give up?

"Seraphina, you look lovely tonight."

The question came from behind us, and at the sound of the voice, I went as stiff as an angry watch dog. Darry noticed my reaction and his assessing eyes slid from me, to Mr. Brady, to Miss Meriwether.

"Good evening, Roger," Miss Meriwether said unenthusiastically. "Mr. Curtis, this is Mr. Brady, another of our parent chaperones. Roger, Mr. Curtis, and of course you know Ponyboy."

He certainly did, I thought coldly, giving him a mean look to make certain he remembered me.

Roger Brady nodded coolly at Darry and didn't offer to shake hands. Darry didn't either.

"Seraphina, I came to tell you you're wanted over by the stage," Mr. Brady said, ignoring Darry and me.

"Thank you, Roger." She looked at Darry. "I'd better go. Thank you again, Mr. Curtis. Ponyboy, you have fun tonight, hear?" She walked rapidly off toward the stage where a group of teachers appeared to be arguing about something. Brady walked off too, without so much as a nod.

"I can't stand him," I muttered through clenched teeth.

"I noticed," Darry replied dryly. "Try and stop looking like you're in pain, little buddy. You're supposed to be having fun, remember?"

"Dances ain't fun," I growled, and went outside to have a smoke before things got started.

Two-Bit found me there, and so did Joe Trose and Bill Lamont. They were two grades ahead of me and lived in a different part of town so I didn't know them too well, but we were there to make a show of solidarity so the four of us went in together. Just like I knew we would, we ended up in a corner, not doing much of anything but looking tough and attracting nervous glances from Mr. Smith, the Spanish teacher.

A couple more little groups of greasers drifted in until there were ten or eleven of us slouching in the corner. The Spring Fling is a popular dance, I guess because everybody's ready to have fun and let off steam after being cooped up during the winter. The dance floor was crowded and lively – even Two-Bit and Bill were taking a turn (with greaser girls of course) – and things were really in full swing when a group of half a dozen Socs walked in. With a sinking stomach I recognized the driver of the Mustang who had stuffed me in the trash. He didn't go to our school, but some of his buddies did, so maybe he was just along for kicks. From the way they looked around the room with sneers on their faces, it was obvious they were seeking something besides good clean fun.

Sure enough, their eyes lighted on us and they made their way straight for us, not caring that they were getting in the dancers' way. Darry had been prowling the perimeter of the gym, and he had seen those Socs the second they put a foot through the door. He got to us a little before they did and stood waiting, arms folded across his chest and his coldest expression on his face.

The group stopped right in front of us, and then the Mustang driver stepped forward so that he was almost toe to toe with Darry. Behind them, I could see dancers glancing our way, and Mr. Smith was wringing his hands.

The driver was a little bit shorter than Darry, but not so much that he was intimidated. He just lifted a finger to stroke his little black mustache and smiled. A smile, when there's hate and spitefulness behind it, can be about the meanest expression in the world. "You know," he said softly, "the problem with public education is that every piece of filthy riff raff thinks it's an invitation to crash the party."

"I couldn't agree more," Darry said gently. I've got to give him credit. I would've taken a swing at the guy, but there was my brother, keeping his cool and returning a better insult at the same time.

The Soc looked taken aback, like at first he thought Darry was actually agreeing with him. But then he figured out that his own mean words had been turned back on him, and his face got ugly. (Not that it wasn't already.) "Could you possibly be insinuating that you think you're better than us, greaser?"

"No," Darry said mildly. "I'm just saying that I was raised better than to cause trouble at a party I wasn't even invited to."

Now that was _really_ using his head. If the Soc started anything now, he'd be as good as admitting that he hadn't had as good of an upbringing as some low down greaser.

The Soc was smart enough to realize that, and he stepped back half a pace and erased the angry look from his face. "It is astounding the kinds of things monkeys can learn to do by watching their superiors."

Darry almost lost it then. I saw the fists that were jammed in his pockets tighten convulsively, but he somehow hung on to his temper. "Since the scientists say we all came from the apes anyway, I don't suppose one monkey is much better than another."

The Soc widened his eyes in pretend surprise. "Well would you listen to that. The greaser's got a scientific education. Guess my tax dollars aren't going to waste after all." With a final, nasty smile, he turned on his heel and started to walk away, his friends falling in behind him like a bunch of stupid sheep.

Up to that point, the guys in our corner had done a good job of keeping their mouths shut and letting Darry handle it, although there were a few clenched fists and angry expressions. But now that the enemy was walking away, some smart mouth, I think it was Joe, couldn't resist shooting an insult after them. Darry spun to shut up whoever it was, but it was too late. The Socs had heard and were coming back with sneering, triumphant expressions on their faces.

It looked like a rumble might explode right there in the gym, but a woman darted up and clutched the lead Soc's arm. "Excuse me, but aren't you Jake Carter, Helen Carter's son?" Miss Meriwether was hanging onto his arm and looking up at him with her big blue eyes like his answer was the most important thing in the world.

That Soc looked surprised, to say the least. "Uh, yeah, that's me," he stammered.

"I thought I recognized you from your picture! I'm sure you don't know who I am, but your mama and my mama went to summer camp together when they were girls, and they have been life long friends ever since, and when my mama heard I was comin' out here to work, she said to me, 'You must be _sure_ to look up Helen Carter,' only of course she was Helen Fisher when she and my mama went to summer camp together, but my mama said, 'You _must_ be sure to look up Helen Carter and see how's she's doin',' and I've been meanin' to, only I've been so busy – I'm teachin' English here at the high school – so you can imagine just how absolutely delighted I am to see you. It's so kind of you to drop in on our little dance when I'm sure it can't be very excitin' for a college man like you, you are in college now, aren't you? Of course you are, you were born just after I was and I just got out myself, and it took me an extra semester on account of gettin' my teachin' license. Now you simply must tell me all about your dear mama because my mama still misses her somethin' awful, even though it's been so many years since they went to summer camp together, but you know how it is with southerners, they just consider everybody family! Did you know my mama still talks about your mother's corn pone? She says that your mother made the best corn pone in six counties, and she won a prize for it at the summer camp one year. Do you suppose she'd give me the recipe? My own just doesn't seem to work right out here, and I think it's because the eggs are different, although my brother tells me there isn't any difference between a southern chicken and a western one, but I think there must be, don't you?"

She finally paused, for breath I guess, and looked up expectantly at Jake Carter. But if that Soc had any thoughts on southern chickens versus western ones, they sure weren't coming out his mouth. Miss Meriwether wasn't disturbed though. She just launched right back in. "Now, you must tell me everythin' about how your family is doin' – I can't tell you how pleased my mama will be to finally get some news about her dear friend Helen Carter. Why, just Monday we were talkin' on the telephone and she said, 'Seraphina, why haven't you looked up Helen Fisher yet?' and I said, 'Mama, you forget her name's Helen Carter now,' because of course mama always thinks of the name she had when they were girls together. Oh, where are my manners? You must allow me to offer you a glass of punch so that your voice won't get dry while you're tellin' me the news. It's really rather nice punch, considerin' that it's a high school dance." And just like that she marched him off to the refreshment table, as if he were one year old instead of one foot taller than she was.

I coughed into my sleeve to hide my laughter, and I heard snickers from the other guys. Even the corners of Darry's mouth had softened, and he had that light in his eyes that means he wants to laugh but won't. The rest of the Socs though, they looked like sheep that had lost their shepherd. I guessed that crashing the dance had been all Jake Carter's idea, and now that he was gone, they didn't know what to do with themselves. They kind of looked at each other and then at us and then back at each other again. They didn't want to just walk out – it would have looked too much like a retreat – but they didn't really want to start anything either.

Mr. Brady suddenly appeared, grinning like he'd just found his best friends. He clapped one of the Socs on the shoulder and said, "Hi Tom, how'd that ball game go? I had some business with your father the other day, and he told me you were looking to hit a few out of the park."

That Soc looked at him with an expression that said he thought Brady was about on a level with greasers. The way I figured it was that Mr. Brady was a middler, but he wanted to be a Soc, and maybe he wanted to be young too, considering the way he dressed, so he was acting like Tom was his buddy. The problem was that it was too obvious Brady wasn't any of the things that he wanted to be, and Tom didn't look like he was about to help play "let's pretend." But then Brady said, "I don't know about you boys, but I'm going to step outside for a smoke. It's getting too stuffy in here."

The Socs glanced at each other, and I knew that as much as they despised Brady, he had just given them a way out. They began to walk toward the door, real casually, not forgetting to send us a few hard looks to prove they weren't leaving because they were afraid of us.

We all let out a little sigh. I, at least, was relieved it hadn't come to a fight, although I wouldn't have admitted that out loud. Darry started his prowling again, never getting too far away from us.

An hour went by pretty slow, with nothing to do but watch the dancing and eat cookies until Mrs. Grunky told us we'd had our limit. I was about to suggest that a group of us step out for a cigarette, steering clear of any Socs of course, when I caught sight of dopey Cindy Brady.

Cindy isn't exactly one of the prettiest girls in school. She's not a dog or anything, but when she walks past you, you don't turn your head for a second look. She'd been dancing with a sophomore boy, out in the very middle of the dance floor, when a cheerleader suddenly walked up to them and tapped the guy on the shoulder. Cindy's partner abandoned her right there in the middle of everybody and went off with the cheerleader. Cindy stood there for a minute, looking lost. Couples dancing around her were turning their heads to look and kind of smirking. Finally, she started to try to get off the dance floor, but it wasn't easy going because it was so crowded, and she wasn't even near the edge when she got an elbow in the face. Instead of apologizing, the dancer yelled at her and she looked like she was about to cry.

I'm still not sure why I did what I did then, but before I quite understood what they were doing my feet carried me out of the safety of the corner and onto the dance floor. I dodged gyrating bodies and managed to catch up with her over by the refreshment table. "Hey Cindy, you wanna dance?"

She looked at me like she thought I was either crazy or trying to play a joke on her. I wasn't sure whether I wanted her to turn me down or not – I was probably going to look like a fool either way – but I didn't want her to think I was somehow trying to be mean, so I added, "I should warn you that I don't dance so good."

She shrugged. "Neither do I," and we walked back onto the floor together.

We got along ok, I guess. It was one of those dances where you just twist around and try to look cool while doing it, so there weren't any complicated steps for me to mess up.

"Is your brother Sodapop ever coming back to school?" Cindy asked after we had gotten our rhythm down.

Girls are always asking me about Soda. "No," I replied, shaking my head in time to the beat. "He likes working better than going to school."

"That's too bad." Girls always said that too. "He was funny. You know, you look a lot like him."

That was the second time a girl had told me I looked like Soda. The first time was Cherry Valance at the Dingo that horrible night. (It wasn't Cherry that was the horrible part.) I didn't believe it, but it still made me feel kind of good.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder, and when I turned my head, I saw the same cheerleader who had taken Cindy's first partner. She was smiling like no Soc girl had ever smiled at me before. "You want to dance, Ponyboy?"

_How does she know my name?_ I wondered, a little dazed, before reality clicked in. After last fall, everybody at school knew who I was, and this girl didn't want to dance with me. She just had it in for Cindy for some reason.

"I am dancing," I told her coolly, and then Cindy and I danced away, leaving her standing there with this bewildered face. Maybe no one ever told her "no" before.

Cindy was smiling, and somehow it wasn't as goofy of an expression as I had thought before. She just looked like a girl who was having a good time. We danced until the end of the song, and then walked over to the edge.

"Thanks, that was fun," she said, still smiling.

I nodded. "Sure, I had fun too. I'll see you around." I beat a hasty retreat back to the corner before she could get the idea that I was going to ask her to dance again or anything.

The guys, of course, had to make a big deal out of it. "Pony's moving up in the world," Joe said, slapping me on the back and laughing in a way that made my ears turn red. "Pretty soon he'll be going to meet her daddy at the country club."

"Nah," said Two-Bit, "I think he's just practicing for the Boy Scouts."

They all thought that was the funniest thing anyone had said all night, and by the time they got done repeating it over and over and laughing like a pack of hyenas, the dance was beginning to break up. Couples drifted toward the door, taking forever to actually get out it, because the girls had to stop and talk to everyone on the way, but in about half an hour the gym was empty except for the chaperones and the clean-up committee. Two-Bit had left with Joe and Bill with the stated intention of getting high, and the other guys had drifted off. Darry and I stacked chairs, and after we'd done all we could to help, we headed for the door. We ran into Miss Meriwether who was also headed toward the parking lot.

She looked tired but she smiled at us anyway. I don't think I've ever seen a person who smiles as much as she does. "I thought tonight went very well, all things considered. Mr. Curtis, your assistance was invaluable, as I knew it would be."

I'm generally proud of Darry, but I felt especially so right then. I guess he was feeling pretty good too, because he asked, "Will you be calling your mother tonight?"

"My mother?" Miss Meriwether sounded confused.

"To give her all the news about her good friend Helen Carter."

"Ah." Miss Meriwether adjust her purse strap over her shoulder and looked off toward the parking lot. "Do you know, I don't believe my mama's ever been to a summer camp in her life. She hates corn pone, too."

"I see," Darry said.

"I thought you would. Goodnight, Mr. Curtis. Goodnight, Ponyboy." She veered off toward her Chevy, her heels clicking against the pavement.

"Good night!" I called. Our Ford was parked on the other side of the lot, and I think we must have gotten to it about the same time Miss Meriwether got to her car. I was standing at my door, and Darry was unlocking the driver's side, when we heard her scream.

_To Be Continued_

**A/N** This is definitely my favorite chapter so far! I hope you all had as much fun reading as I did writing!


	6. The Race

**A/N** Hey, sorry for the delay! I finally finished up all my school stuff, and my muse decided to go on vacation. A large thank you to all reviewers!

**Chapter 6**

I'm the fastest runner in my family, but I was on the far side of the car, so Darry got there first. I was hot on his heels, though, and saw everything that happened. Roger Brady had been standing near her car, hidden in the shadow of the building. When she got close, he grabbed her and tried to kiss her, although she made that pretty difficult with the way she was twisting and kicking. He shoved her up against the side of the car, and that was when Darry vaulted over the hood and grabbed him around the neck. Mr. Brady gave a strangled gasp, and before he even had time to struggle, Darry jerked him away from the car and punched his face so hard that he just crumpled onto the ground.

By that point I was there too, and since Darry didn't need any help I focused on Miss Meriwether. She had both her hands pushed over her mouth, and she was shaking like she had chills and a fever.

"Miss Meriwether, he didn't hurt you, did he?" I asked anxiously. She looked all right except that her hair was falling down out of its neat bun, and her dress was torn a little on one shoulder.

It seemed to take her a moment to recognize me. She slowly lowered her hands from her mouth. "Ponyboy?" she asked, like she wasn't entirely sure it was me. "I…I'm fine."

She didn't look fine. She looked like she was about to cry, but I didn't know what to do about that. If she was bleeding I could have applied pressure to the cut or something.

Darry grabbed Mr. Brady by his shirtfront and hauled him partway up, but the man's head just rolled over to the side, he was out so cold. Darry grimaced and dropped him back on the ground. "Drunk," he said disgustedly, then looked over at us. I could see concern on his face as he stepped forward. "You look a little shaky, why don't you sit in your car for a few minutes?"

Miss Meriwether looked up at him, then helplessly down at her hands. "I…I seem to have lost my keys." She swayed, and Darry grabbed her arm to steady her.

"Pony, find Miss Meriwether's keys," he directed.

She had dropped her purse in the struggle and its contents were scattered over the ground, but I found the keys right away and handed them to Darry, then gathered up the rest of the things to put back in the purse. Darry opened the car door and helped her sit down inside. "Just close your eyes and breathe slowly," he said quietly. "You'll be all right in a minute."

By the time I'd gotten everything back in her purse, she had stopped shaking and her face looked calm. "Thank you, Ponyboy," she said when I handed her the purse. "And thank you both for comin' to my rescue. I apologize for bein' so silly."

I didn't think she'd been silly at all, but I wasn't sure how to say that. "Aw, he's a creep," I muttered, shooting a furious look at the body on the ground.

She actually laughed. It was shaky, but it was a laugh. "I couldn't agree more."

"Will you be all right driving home?" Darry asked.

"Yes, I believe I will, thank you." She put her purse on the seat beside her and stuck the key into the ignition. "Mr. Curtis, thank you again for … for all your assistance this evening."

Darry shoved his hands in his pockets. "You're welcome."

She shut her door and started the engine. With a final wave to us through her window, she drove out of the parking lot, and we turned our attention back to Roger Brady's body. Cursing softly, I pulled back my foot and kicked him hard in the thigh.

"Pony," Darry warned me mildly, not sounding like he was actually upset.

"What are we going to do with him?" I asked.

Darry nodded toward the few remaining cars in the parking lot. "One of these has got to be his." He found a set of keys in Mr. Brady's pockets and gave them to me. "Go figure out which one it is, and we'll stick him inside to let him sleep it off."

The key worked in the second car I tried. I watched Darry heave the body over his shoulder and haul it over. "He ain't exactly a lightweight," he grunted as pitched the unconscious dance chaperone into the back seat. I put the keys back in his pocket, and then we locked him in safe and sound.

"Better than he deserves," I muttered as we walked to our own car.

Much to my relief, there weren't any rumors at school on Monday about what had happened in the parking lot. Luckily, no one else had seen the fight, and Mr. Brady either wasn't talking or he'd drunk so much he didn't even remember what happened. Miss Meriwether looked and acted like her normal self, and when I went in on Wednesday, she didn't mention the matter. Instead, we talked about how I was going to get the manuscript typed up so that she could take it with her over Spring Break. We didn't have a typewriter, and I didn't know how to type anyway, so we made a deal. She would give me the money to hire a typist, and in return I would mow her lawn during the summer. She made me run the idea past Darry first. I think she probably guessed how touchy he is about taking any favor that might look like charity, even though I've never said anything. But he said he thought it sounded like a fair deal, so Miss Meriwether drove me downtown where there's an office that'll type up anything for you and charges by the page.

It took a week before it was ready, but when we picked it up on the last weekday before Spring Break, it looked so impressive that I could hardly believe that it was really the semester theme I'd written for Mr. Syme. I kept flipping through the pages to make sure that the words on them were mine. I was tempted to take it home to show Darry and Soda, but I was scared that some freak accident would happen to it, so I asked Miss Meriwether to just keep it. The only thing it was missing was a title – I hadn't been able to think of one I liked yet, but Miss Meriwether said that was ok. An agent or even an editor could help me with that.

She dropped me off in front of the house, and I went slowly up the walk, feeling light and empty. Between revising my book and keeping up with my schoolwork, I'd been working so hard that I felt I hadn't just gone out and done stuff with any of the gang in forever. Actually, Two-Bit had been bugging me lately about turning into Darry. Now that roofing season had started again, he was working like fury on construction from 8 to 5. Then he rushed home, grabbed a bite to eat, and either took off for the warehouse, where he worked four nights a week as a security guard, or the gym. I don't know how he managed to have energy for the gym with as little sleep as he got, but keeping in shape is really important to Darry. It's one of the few things in his life that he can control and be proud of.

I hesitated at the front door, hoping to hear the television going which would mean Two-Bit was there, but the house was silent. I dropped my book bag on the floor just inside and headed for the kitchen to find something to eat.

"How's it going, kid?"

I jumped and spun so fast that I tripped over my own feet and almost pitched headfirst onto the floor. And when I saw who it was who had scared me so bad, I wasn't any too pleased. I think her real name was Lucinda or Lucille or something, but she went by Lula. She had bleached blond hair, and she wore so much make-up that she looked a little bit like a clown. Her clothes were always too tight and too short and right now, with the way she was sprawled on the couch with her legs draped over the arm, I could see right up her skirt. "What are you doing here?" I snapped, even though I had a pretty good idea. A few months back, Darry went with Dally to this party at Buck Merrill's place, and he just happened to dance with Lula one time. But apparently she thought it was a proposal of marriage or something, because ever since then she's been calling him and popping up in places where he goes a lot. Darry can't stand her, but he's too polite to girls to tell her to just beat it. You think she'd get the hint, though, after he's turned down about thirty of her invitations.

"What am I doing here? You know, kid, I really don't think that's any of your business." She took a long drag on her cigarette and smirked at me.

"Yeah, well since this is my house, maybe it is my business."

"Or maybe it's your brother's. He owns the place, doesn't he?"

"We all own it," I informed her, "and as one third owner, I'm telling you to get out. Darry doesn't like you and he's never going to go on a date with you, so why don't you get some brains and go home?" I didn't have any trouble with my conscience over being rude to her. If anyone ever needed to be told the cold, hard truth, it was that girl.

She gave me a mean look out of her beady little eyes. "Oh, is that so?"

"Yeah, it's so. Now beat it."

She smirked again and crossed her legs so that her skirt rode way up on her thighs. "Make me."

She had me there. I could be rude to her, but I wasn't willing to wrestle her out of the house. I made myself relax a little and shrug. "Suit yourself. But Darry is not going to be happy when he finds you here."

Lula just laughed hoarsely. "Little boy, I don't think you have any idea about what makes your big brother happy."

Boy was she dumb. Definitely the dumbest girl in our town and maybe in the whole United States. My happy Spring Break feeling was gone, but I was still hungry, so I went into the kitchen and shut the door behind me. Maybe I couldn't kick her out of the house, but at least I didn't have to look at her.

I had a piece of chocolate cake and stared at the clock the whole time while I was eating. It would be at least another hour before Soda and Darry got home, and it seemed like an eternity. At last I decided that I may as well start dinner, but while I was rummaging around in the refrigerator, the front door slammed open. A second later, I heard voices, and then Soda came into the kitchen. He shut the door behind him and demanded, "Ponyboy what's she doing here?"

I made a sour face. "Waiting for Darry, what else? I told her to leave, but she wouldn't listen to me. You wanna kick her out?" I asked hopefully.

"Uh, maybe we should just leave it to Darry."

"But he won't be home until six! Why are you here so early anyway?"

"You know that car Steve's been working on?"

"Yeah." Steve had been souping up an engine on a car that belonged to some friend of Tim Shepard's.

"Well, he's done, and there's racing down by the river tonight. The guy wants Steve to drive for him, so we're heading out as soon as I change my shirt."

"That's tuff," I said, and then I asked desperately, "Soda, can I come with you? Please?"

"Shucks, Darry'd skin me alive for taking you to a drag race."

"Oh come on, it's not like I'd be in the car when Steve's racing or anything. And you wouldn't have the heart to leave me here with _her_ would you?" I put on my most pleading expression.

Soda gave in easily, as I'd hoped he would. "Oh all right. But you stick close to me and Steve, hear? Sometimes the crowd gets a little rough."

"I'll do that," I promised.

Steve was waiting in the '53 Ford convertible outside, and although he kind of glared when he saw me, he didn't say anything.

They do the racing out of town a ways, down by the river where there's an old dirt road that was used to guide log boats way back in the day. It was getting on to six o'clock when we arrived, but still plenty light. There were three other cars going to race, and they'd set up a schedule, two at a time, so that everyone got to compete against everyone else. There were several guys taking bets, and as soon as we got there Steve hurried up to one of these and had a long conversation with a lot of hand gesturing.

"This is pretty big race," Soda commented, looking at the crowd.

There were a lot of greasers and hoods, and even some people who looked more the middler type. Some of them had girls, and most of them had cigarettes and beer cans. They were starting to get rowdy by the time Steve finished talking to his bookie and came back over. He wasn't in the first race, so we all perched on the backs of the seats in his car and watched the two drivers line up and rev their engines.

"How much you got riding on this?" I asked Steve.

"Nothing," he said contemptuously. "Ponyboy, I don't bet on anyone but myself."

"Hey, where's Rick?" Soda suddenly asked. Rick was the guy who owned the car Steve was driving.

"I don't know." Steve scanned the crowed, frowning a little. "I don't see any of Shepard outfit at all."

Screams from the crowd announced that the two cars had taken off, and there was too much going on after that for us to have much more conversation. It was pretty exciting with everybody shouting and screaming, and the smell of exhaust in the air. Steve won his two heats, which meant he would compete for the grand championship of the night, but the final race was delayed while they ran an extra race to break a tie between two of the other cars. Some brunette that kind of reminded me of Lula was making a big deal over Steve, and he had his arm wrapped cozily around her. She kept telling him how wonderful he was for winning, but I saw the glances she was sneaking at Soda. Steve didn't notice, though, which was a good thing, and Soda didn't notice either. He hasn't been much interested in girls since Sandy left.

Soda, in fact, was starting to get a little antsy waiting for the big race of the night to arrive. "I'm going to take a little walk," he told us. I didn't feel like following him through the crowd that was getting progressively more drunk, and I figured Steve wouldn't mind me sitting in the back corner of his car as long as I kept my mouth shut, so I stayed where I was.

Soda had only been gone a couple of minutes when one of guys who'd arranged the race schedule came up to Steve. "Since it's the last race, we're gonna do something special. The lady of your choice," he winked at Steve's brunette, "will be standing partway down the track holding a handkerchief. You take a friend with you in the car, and he's got to grab the handkerchief as you drive past on the way back."

"You up for it?" Steve asked the girl.

She giggled and rubbed the back of his neck. "Oh sure."

"You got a friend?" the judge asked.

Steve nodded. "Yeah."

"All right then. You race in ten minutes."

Steve looked back at me. "Go find Soda!"

I wasn't thrilled about it, but I started pushing through the crowd, looking for my brother. Things were so wild by that point though, that it was kind of like looking for a needle in a haystack. Actually, I was surprised the cops hadn't shown up yet. Somebody spilled their beer on me, and I almost got brained by this crazy broad who was swinging a baseball bat around. At last, I figured he must have made his own way back and I didn't want to miss the beginning of the race, so I returned to the starting line. The crowd was thick, and it was lucky I was small or I never could have elbowed my way through. When I finally got to the front, I saw that Soda wasn't there, and that Steve was arguing with one of the judges.

"If he doesn't have a buddy, he forfeits!" the other driver shouted.

Steve spun and started swearing at him.

At that moment, I forgot everything Darry's ever tried to teach me about not losing my head and ran forward. "I couldn't find Soda, but I'll ride with you," I told Steve.

He looked mad for a moment, and then he jerked his head toward the car. "Get in."

I tumbled into the backseat and Steve jumped behind the wheel. Both the cars revved their engines, and the crowd suddenly grew quiet. "Ready!" shouted the judge. "Set! Go!"

I was thrown back against the seat as Steve's car shot forward. The roar of the motor was so loud that I couldn't even hear the crowd screaming as we zoomed forward into the twilight. It was kind of a breathless feeling, and at first I forgot why I was even there. But then I remembered and sat up, looking for the girl. She was standing by the side of the track, her arms down by her sides. I pointed, shouting, "Do you see her?"

"Yeah!" Steve hollered back.

We got to the turnaround point a fraction ahead of the other car, and Steve spun the car so sharply we went up on two wheels, but we pulled out of there maybe a full two seconds ahead. I got up on my knees on the seat and held on to the doorframe, leaning over it a little bit and feeling the wind tugging at my body. I hoped that the girl wouldn't get scared and jump back or drop the handkerchief or anything.

Suddenly she was there, hard to see in the gathering darkness. She was holding out the handkerchief at arm's length, but she was a little too far back. We were going so fast it seemed like we flashed up on her; I gave a desperate lunge; my fingers closed on something silky and I teetered dangerously on the door before falling safely back onto the seat. "I got it!" I screamed. "I got it!"

We reached the finish line in a cloud of dust and a shriek of brakes, way ahead of the other team, which had dropped their handkerchief. Everybody was screaming, Soda the loudest of all. He'd reached the starting line just as we took off, and now he was jumping up and down and hollering and hugging everyone in sight. (A large group of girls had gathered around him.)

A bunch of guys grabbed Steve and hoisted him up in the air, and before I knew it another group had done the same to me. It was fun, bobbing around on their shoulders until they suddenly got tired of it and almost dropped me on my head. I fought through the crowd to get to Soda and Steve, and attached myself to Soda's arm, kind of elbowing a petite blond out of the way. She glared at me, but her friend grinned and reached out to ruffle my hair.

"Well aren't you cute?" she cooed. "And a hero, too! Why don't you come and have a couple of drinks with me?"

"No thanks," I said flatly.

She laughed and messed up my hair again, and then, to my relief, Steve decided it was time to take off. He still had the brunette attached to him, so me and Soda rode in the backseat. A couple of the girls offered to come with Soda, but he just shook them off, laughing.

"Shall we hit Buck's?" Steve asked as we roared away from the river.

"Can we drop Pony off at home first?" Soda asked.

"Sure," Steve agreed easily, not sounding put out like he usually would have. On the way home he did something even more surprising. As we passed a Dairy Queen, he slowed down and asked, "Pony, you want an ice cream or something before I drop you off?"

I was shocked – even though I had helped Steve win his big race, I hadn't necessarily expected him to appreciate the fact – but I answered quickly, "Yeah, that'd be great."

Steve pulled into the parking lot, and then the girl decided she wanted something too, and Soda decided an ice cream cone wouldn't hurt him none, and the result was we all ended up with ice cream and sitting at one of the little tables they have outside because Steve said no ice cream in the car. It was probably a good thing he did. The night was warm, and I had to lick fast to keep my cone from dripping down over my fingers. I still ended up with sticky hands, so I went over to a faucet they had outside to rinse off. As I was bending over to stick my hands in the spray,

another car roared into the parking lot. By the time I was drying my hands off on my jeans, three guys had piled out of it, and I recognized Rick and two other members of the Shepard gang.

"I been looking all over for you, Randle!" Rick shouted. "Where've you been?"

"At the race, I won," Steve snapped back. "Where were you?"

"Doesn't matter, give me the keys," Rick demanded.

Steve slowly reached into his pocket. "We don't have any other ride."

Rick jerked his head toward one of his friends. "Sam, give him our car."

Sam looked at him kind of funny, but he tossed the keys onto the ground by Steve's feet. Steve got a real mad look on his face, but he handed over the keys to the convertible.

"And the money?" Rick asked.

"I don't have it. I'm meeting Willy at Buck's tonight."

"At Buck's? What time?"

Steve shrugged. "Around ten."

Rick nodded. "I'll pick it up, send you your half."

"Oh you will, will you?" Steve snarled. "I think I'll show up to collect my own half, thanks anyway."

Before I could blink, Rick reached out and grabbed the front of Steve's jacket. "You'll do what I tell you, Randle, or you won't see any of the money, got it?"

Steve swore and started to push Rick off, but before he realized what was happening, Rick hauled off and slugged him in the gut. Steve stumbled back into the table and Soda jumped to his feet, but the other guys were already running for the convertible. They jumped in and roared off.

Soda picked the keys off the ground and gestured toward the other car. "You want to try and catch them?"

"After what I did to their engine? Impossible." Steve clenched his fists and glared after the convertible. "Filthy…"

"Hey!" The manager of the Dairy Queen came running up. "If you guys are going to make trouble, you get out, now."

"It was those other guys," Soda tried to explain, but Steve stepped forward and looked about ready to punch the guy.

That was when the police car screamed into the parking lot.

_To Be Continued_


	7. The Arrest

**A/N** Oof. Since the last update I have presented my first professional academic paper (on fan fiction believe it or not) at a conference, taken a trip to South America, attended my sister's high school graduation, hung out with my nephews, washed five thousand dishes for my grandmother, learned how to play Wii, caught a cold, quit one summer job and found another, and seen the Spiderman and Pirates 3s. However, the craziest part of my summer is now over with, so updates should be more regular from here on out.

**Chapter 7**

The police jumped out of the car with their guns drawn. "Hands up, now!" they shouted. When you're a greaser and a cop's got a heater on you, you don't fool around. We all stuck our hands in the air, including the DQ manager. "Cuff 'em," the tallest cop told his two buddies, keeping gun trained on Steve. "And if any of you clowns try resisting arrest, your buddy here gets it." He jerked his head at the manager. "You can put your hands down, sir. Sorry about the inconvenience."

"But we didn't do anything!" Soda protested as one of the others forced his hands down and cuffed them behind his back.

"Oh sure," sneered the cop with the gun. "You didn't rob a gas station an hour ago, you didn't steal that car, and you haven't been leading us on a merry chase all over town."

"Stolen? Wait until I get my hands on that filthy son of a…" Steve shook his own cuffs uselessly.

"We didn't steal it, somebody gave it to us," Soda said reasonably.

"Oh sure, was it Santa Claus?" sneered the cop who was currently cuffing my hands behind my back. I couldn't help shuddering as the cold metal bit into my wrists.

"It's true," the DQ manager suddenly said, having to raise his voice to be heard over the girl who had started to blubber. "These boys have been here for twenty minutes, and they didn't arrive in that car. They swapped cars with some other guys who showed up about five minutes ago. I saw the whole thing."

The cop with the gun frowned, his gaze flickering back and forth between the furious Steve and the manager, as though he couldn't quite believe he'd got the wrong suspects. "We're taking everybody in," he finally told the others. "We'll straighten this out at the station."

They had to radio for another squad car since there wasn't enough space for all of us in one. Two cops held guns on us the whole time we were waiting and they made us get down on our knees. The girl cried the whole time, and, to my embarrassment, by the time the second police car pulled into the parking lot I was about ready to join her. They manhandled us all into the cars and we sped away to the downtown precinct. Once there, they separated us. I only had time for one panicked glance at Soda, who tried to give me a reassuring look, before I was thrust into a small room with no windows and just one naked light bulb. The only furniture was a heavy table and two chairs. The officer who had thrust me inside had ordered me to sit down, but after he slammed and locked the door, leaving me alone, I hopped up and began pacing back and forth behind that table. I'd never wanted a cigarette so badly in my life, but they'd left my hands cuffed behind my back. Besides, I'd probably really get in trouble if I smoked inside the police station.

As I walked, all I could think about was that this was it – the end of the Curtis family. As soon as Child Services learned that me and Soda had been arrested, they'd take us away from Darry and put us in a boys' home. I couldn't hold back my tears any longer.

I was busy trying to wipe my eyes and nose on the shoulder of my sleeveless shirt when the door finally opened. I jumped guiltily and tried to sit down, but I lost my balance on account of my hands being cuffed and fell on the floor.

"You all right there, son?" a kind voice asked from somewhere above me.

I awkwardly scrambled to my feet. "Uh, yeah, I'm sorry I know I was supposed to be sitting down…"

"That's all right." This wasn't one of the police officers who had arrested us. He was an older looking man with a large gray mustache and a wrinkled uniform. But he was frowning as he looked at me, and I was anxiously wondering whether I'd better apologize again when he strode over to the door and jerked it open. "Harker, get me the key for these fool cuffs," he hollered down the hall at somebody, and half a minute later he had the key in hand and was releasing me. "Kind of hard to think with the bracelets on, ain't it?" he asked conversationally.

"Yes sir," I stammered. "Thank you, sir."

He sat down at the table across from me and slowly folded his hands over his round belly like he had all the time in the world. "Now, son, why don't you tell me exactly what happened."

I did. I told him everything from going to the drag race with Steve and Soda to the Dairy Queen manager coming out to yell at Steve for fighting with Rick. And I told him Rick's name and the names of the guys who were with him. Normally, one greaser would never think of turning another over to the fuzz, but Rick and his buddies had already broken that code when they stuck us with a hot car and no warning. Besides, I'd of rather had Tim Shepard's whole durn gang out for my blood than be taken from Soda and Darry.

When I was finished, the cop nodded his head and said, "I figured it was something like that. Ok, I just need you to fill out some paperwork with the front desk, and then you and your brother will be free to go."

It seemed too good to be true. "Really?" I asked, my voice cracking a little.

"There's about three hundred witnesses running around who saw you and the other kid win that race at the same time the gas station was being robbed, not to mention the man who saw the other boys drive up in the stolen car. That's what we call an iron clad alibi."

"Thank you, sir," I said fervently.

"My pleasure, son. Sorry we had to drag you in here." He let me out into the hall and pointed the way to the front desk.

I hurried down the hall, hoping that Soda would be there waiting for me, but when I arrived I found someone more unexpected. "Darry!" I half shouted, happy and relieved, and for once not caring that he was probably going to ground me until Judgment Day.

"Ponyboy!" My big brother grabbed me into a rough hug and looked at me worriedly. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah." I pulled back and looked around the waiting room. "Where are Soda and Steve?"

"They're supposed to be coming."

"That's good," I sighed. "Say, Darry, how'd you know we were here?"

Darry glanced cautiously at the cop behind the desk who seemed to be busy with a stack of files. "Later," he said softly.

Steve and Soda came out while I was still filling out an information sheet and getting my fingerprints taken so that they could check them against any prints found on the car. They had to do the same thing, and then we were finally all free to go. The girl had called someone else to come pick her up.

Soda tried to get Steve to come home with us, but he just shook his head and took off into the darkness. "Rick had better hope the cops find him before Steve does," Soda said darkly, with a worried look after his best friend.

"Or Tim Shepard," Darry added, opening the car.

"What?" I demanded, climbing in. "It was Tim's outfit that did it to us."

Darry shook his head. "Nope, it was Rick's. He's been working to convince some of the others in the gang that it would be more profitable to branch out on their own. Tim didn't know about tonight's robbery until it was over."

Soda gave a low whistle. "I'll bet he's upset."

That was an understatement. Rick was a rank traitor, and Tim would be out for his blood. Literally. You couldn't have paid me enough to swap places with the guy. "So is that how you found out were we were?" I asked, and immediately regretted it.

"Yeah," responded my big brother, his tone suddenly becoming hard. "Curly called and told me all about it. Including how you helped Steve win his big race. _What in tarnation were you thinking, Ponyboy?_ Don't you know how dangerous racing is?"

"Steve's a good driver," I offered weakly, although I should have just kept my mouth shut.

"Good driver? No one's a good driver when they're pulling tomfool stunts like that! Steve ought to have known better than to let you in that car, and Soda ought to have known not to take you down there in the first place!"

It always makes me mad when Darry takes after Soda, even though he almost never does it and only when Soda really deserves it. "If your stupid girlfriend hadn't been taking over our house, he wouldn't have had to take me!" I shouted back.

"That's no excuse and she is _not_ my girlfriend!"

I was about to snap back another sharp retort, when I felt Soda pinch my upper arm. He did it hard enough that the pain caught my attention through my anger, and I recognized the code for _Just let him blow it off_. My brother was right: Answering back wasn't going to help anything, so I somehow held my tongue while Darry kept yelling, and by the time we reached home, he had cooled off considerably.

Soda decided that a little bedtime snack would help calm us down even more, and when we were all sitting around the kitchen table, I finally asked, "Am I grounded."

I expected a vehement yes, but instead Darry looked at me for a moment and then said, "I reckon you've been punished enough this time." I guess my jaw almost hit the table top in my surprise, as my brother continued, "Getting hauled in by the police isn't exactly a picnic. So Ponyboy, in the future…"

"I know," I hastened to finish for him, "I'll stay away from racing."

Darry shook his head. "I was actually going to say stay away from the cops. This is exactly the kind of thing that could convince social services to split us up."

A hot burst of guilt stabbed through me. "I know. I'm real sorry, Darry."

"I guess it wasn't really your fault. Or Soda's, or even Steve's. But if you hadn't been down at the river in the first place, it wouldn't have happened." He shot Soda a sharp glance. "And that goes for you too, little buddy. You ain't 18 yet either."

Soda nodded and looked miserable. "Sorry Dar."

"So both of you stay away from drag racing, or next time, I _will_ skin you."

And that was the end of it.

Getting arrested was more excitement than I'd been looking for, and I decided that maybe I'd better take it easy for the rest of the break. So I lazed around, reading and watching television mostly. I went to the movies with Two-Bit a couple of times, and one night the whole gang went to the drive-in. We didn't do things like that as much as we used to. Maybe because when we were all together, it was just too obvious who was missing.

By Thursday I was starting to get a little stir crazy. Soda and Darry were at work all day of course, and even though Two-Bit came over fairly often, he also went to a variety of entertaining places that Darry would've skinned me alive for setting foot in, so I had a lot of time on my own. Thursday I decided I'd quit lying around driving myself crazy with memories I didn't want to think about and do something useful instead. I decided the kitchen floor could use a good scrubbing, and I was down on my knees trying to reach under the stove, when somebody knocked on the door.

It's pretty rare for anyone to actually knock. We always leave the house unlocked, and most everyone who knows us just hollers and comes on in. Wiping my wet hands on my jeans, I went out to answer the door. There were three people standing there, a man in a suit and two cops, and the moment I saw them, I wished I'd just played possum, but it was too late.

"Can I help you?" I asked cautiously, keeping halfway behind the door. It wasn't time for the people from the state to visit, and I uneasily wondered if this had anything to do with last Friday night.

"Ponyboy Curtis?" the man in the suit asked.

"That's me," I said reluctantly.

"My name is Charles Jenkins, and I work for the state child protection services." He pulled out his identification and showed it to me.

So it was them after all. Feeling slightly relieved, I said, "Somebody was here just last month. Did they forget to ask a question or something?"

"No. No, they didn't forget anything." Mr. Jenkins stuck his wallet back in his pocket and cleared his throat. "Son, is your brother at home?"

"You know Darry's at work." Social services knew all about Darry's jobs and Soda's too. "The only reason I'm here is because of Spring Break," I hastily added, in case he was suspicious about why I wasn't in school. "I'm not playing hooky."

"I know." Mr. Jenkins cleared his throat again, and it occurred to me that he seemed nervous about something. "Son," he repeated, "I'm sorry to tell you that, in light of recent events, I am here to remand you into the custody of the state."

It took me one second too long to slam the door in his face. Those cops jumped forward – one of them caught the door and the other caught me. I hollered and twisted and bit, but it didn't do any good. There was no way I was going to get free.

"Now son, if you'll just be reasonable…" Mr. Jenkins stammered.

"You can't take me when Darry ain't even here!" I shouted at him. "That's kidnapping!"

Mr. Jenkins wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. "I'm afraid we can't wait for your brother to get home from work. We've got to make the 3 o'clock bus to Cedartown."

That's where the boys' home is. It's not exactly juvy, but it's close enough. And Cedartown is a long way from here. Struggling wasn't getting me anywhere, so I stopped and focused on pleading instead. "But you could send someone to Darry's job site and get him. Please, Mr. Jenkins, sir."

He shook his head. "We just don't have time. Your brother will be informed as soon as possible, of course, but we've got to make that bus."

They hauled me out to the car, and I had to sit in the back between the fuzz, so there wasn't any chance of escape. We arrived at the station, and just one of the cops and Mr. Jenkins got out while the other policeman moved into the driver's seat. The three of us walked into the station, and I guess they already had the tickets because we headed straight for a bus.

That policeman had his hand on my shoulder the whole time we were walking, but there was second, when I was about to go up the step onto the bus, when he lifted his hand. That second was all I needed. In a flash, I was off, running faster than I ever had for track. But there were too many good citizens in the bus station that day. Both the cop and Mr. Jenkins were screaming for somebody to stop me, and although I managed to shake off the first couple of hands that grabbed for me, two security guards caught me in the end. I never really had a chance.

The cop pulled out his handcuffs and chained me to him, and I had to ride like that the whole three hour trip to Cedartown. That was embarrassing enough, with all the passengers staring at me because they'd seen me try to run, but when I started blubbering, that was when the real humiliation started. I managed to hold in most of the sobs, but I couldn't stop the tears from leaking out of my eyes. I discreetly wiped my cheeks and nose on the shoulder of my t-shirt, but I couldn't seem to stop crying, especially when I thought about how Soda and Darry were going to feel when they found out that I was gone.

Fortunately, Mr. Jenkins was sitting behind us, and I might as well have been a speck of lint on his sleeve for all the attention the policeman paid me. There was a car waiting for us at the bus station in Cedartown. It's not much of a town – one main street and one stoplight – and the boys' home isn't even in it. It's out in the country a ways, and I guess they have a kind of small farm. At least, that's what I figured out from the things Mr. Jenkins said as we drove. He seemed like he was trying hard to cheer me up, and he kept saying things like, "You'll feel better once you dig your hands into that good rich earth. You're getting there just in time for planting season," and "Did I mention that they raise most of their own food right there?" He sounded like a brochure from a real estate office.

The boy's home was a big, crummy looking brick building. It did have a nice yard, though, and what looked like a big garden around to the side, so I guess Mr. Jenkins was at least trying to tell the truth. We went in, and I finally got out of the handcuffs when they handed me over to some guy in a suit named Mr. Warden. I thought that was ironic, a concept we'd been working on in Miss Meriwether's class. Mr. Jenkins had to leave right away to catch a bus back to our town. He seemed apologetic, but he didn't do anything about it, so I don't know what good his feeling sorry for me accomplished.

When they were gone, Mr. Warden gave me a look as cold as any I've gotten from the Socs. "We have two kinds of boys here, Ponyboy," he began. "There are boys who obey the rules and thereby earn certain privileges, and there are boys who break the rules and live to regret it. It is entirely up to you what kind of boy you will be."

He said it was up to me, but considering that I'd arrived in handcuffs, I bet he'd already put me on one of those lists in his mind.

Another man came in then. He didn't look much older than Darry, but he had a mean set to his mouth that Darry never has even at his angriest. His name was Mr. Trill, and he was going to be my dorm parent – whatever that meant. He grabbed my arm and marched me out of the office and up the stairs. I resented the way he treated me like a prisoner – after all, Mr. Jenkins had emphasized that this was _not_ juvenile hall. But maybe every boy who ended up here had intentions of running away just as soon as he could. I know I did.

We ended up in a long room that had two rows of bunk beds lined up against the wall. When I counted later, I discovered that there were beds for twenty boys, and now that I was there, they were all full.

"This is your bed," Trill said, pointing to a lower bunk that was covered with a grey blanket exactly like every other bunk. It had two long drawers beneath it, and I guessed that was where I would keep my stuff. If I ever got any stuff. Sure enough, Trill kicked the one closest to the wall. "Your clothes and toiletry articles are in there. You will have to change before supper. No boys are allowed in the dining hall unless they are in uniform. Community rules are posted on the wall, and I would suggest that you familiarize yourself with them. If you break any of the regulations, you have only one choice, and that is to decide between Mr. Warden's punishment and mine. Is that clear?"

"Yeah," I muttered, staring down at my battered sneakers. I wondered whether there were shoes to go with the uniform.

"Good. The supper bell will ring shortly, and I'll make sure someone is here to lead you to the dining hall." Apparently feeling that he had done all that was necessary to make me welcome in my new home, Trill left. The moment he was gone, I ran to the room's only window and looked out. There was a full view of the garden and beyond it, the highway, my path to freedom, but the view was marred by a thick iron grille. I pushed up the sash and shook the bars but they wouldn't budge.

"It's no good going out the window," a cool voice said from behind me. "A guy worked the grille loose a couple of years ago, so now Trill shakes it every evening before he kisses us good night."

I turned to see a slight boy with light hair standing in the doorway. "Are you my guide to the dining hall?"

"That seemed to be the general idea."

I walked away from the window until I was only a couple of feet away from him. "I'm Ponyboy Curtis."

One pale eyebrow lifted upward, the first sign of emotion I'd seen in him. "Ponyboy?" he asked with slight derision in his tone. I clenched my fists by my sides. I was proud of my name, and I wasn't going to let some arrogant stranger make fun of it. But all he said was, "If I were you, I'd stick to the Curtis part. They only use last names here, anyway. You'd better get changed because the supper bell will ring any minute."

I wasn't quite ready to let go yet. "What's your name?" I demanded. "First or last, I don't care which."

His expression didn't change at all. "Wilson," he said.

I pulled open the drawer Trill had kicked for me, and found two pairs of dark blue pants and four light blue shirts exactly like the ones Wilson was wearing. There were also socks and underwear, toothbrush, soap, comb, and a towel. "What's a fellow do if he needs to shave?" I asked as I pulled off my old shirt and began buttoning up the new blue one.

"You don't shave," Wilson informed me.

I glared at him. "I didn't say I did."

"Trill keeps the razors locked up," he admitted. "You can only shave every other day under his direct supervision."

"Anyone ever go berserk with a razor in this place?" I asked.

For the first time, something approaching a smile crossed his face. "Not yet."

The supper bell rang, a brassy racket loud enough to wake the dead. Wilson led the way back down the stairs and along a hall to a large pair of double doors. Other boys, all dressed exactly the same as us, were appearing from different directions. You'd have thought with all those bodies headed for food, there'd of been some kind of racket, but the only noise was the quiet tread of feet on the floor. Nobody ran, nobody talked, and nobody smiled.

"I'm sure you haven't had time to memorize the rules yet," Wilson said in a low voice, "but the relevant ones at the moment are no talking and no disturbances of any kind during meals. This isn't a rule, but never ask for seconds. But if they offer you more food, always take it. Otherwise…" He shut his mouth as we crossed the threshold into the dining room. It was enormous, and lined with long tables just like a school cafeteria. The tables were rapidly filling up with blue shirted boys, and Wilson led me to one of these. "Dormitory rooms sit together," he said, very softly, and pointed to an empty chair. I went and stood behind it, like every other boy in the room was doing.

There must have been three hundred boys standing behind their chairs by the time everyone was in. Then the adults came in, all in a group, and walked up to the only empty table, which was at the front of the room. The men stood respectfully behind their chairs, just like we were doing, until Mr. Warden sat at the head of the table. Then they sat down, and once they'd done that, we could too.

Apparently the rule against talking didn't apply to the adults, because their voices sounded awfully loud in the big, echoing room. I caught the other boys at my table sneaking glances at me, and I was just about to risk a whisper to ask where the food was, when there was a sound like metal scraping. I half turned in my chair and saw that a counter into the next room had been opened up, and the table farthest from it was getting up and lining in front of it. When it was our turn, I filed through with the rest of my table and got a plateful of some kind of stew. It was awfully bland and the meat seemed to be mostly gristle, but I made myself eat it anyway because running away hungry is a rotten way to begin.

When we were done eating and Mr. Warden had given a signal from the head table, we carted our plates back up to the counter and stacked them in plastic tubs. I had no idea what I was supposed to do next, so I just followed Wilson. We ended up in a room full of small tables and chairs. There was a set of encyclopedias and some other books along one wall, so I guessed it was supposed to be used for studying. Wilson and some of the other boys from our table got in a cluster and looked me over. I looked them over too. They all had the same cool mask that Wilson wore, so I tried to match it. I figured it must be the best way to get along in this place.

After a minute of mutual examination, the tallest of them stepped forward. "I'm Rackley," he said.

"I'm P…Curtis," I returned, barely remembering Wilson's advice.

Rackley nodded. "We know. You're taking Pemberton's place."

"What happened to Pemberton?" I asked.

"He graduated," Rackley answered, and I heard a snicker from one of the other boys. I guessed that Rackley didn't mean Pemberton had gotten a fancy diploma and gone off to a fabulous new job.

The rest of the group moved closer, and I suddenly realized that I had a table behind me and they were blocking off any escape in front.

Rackley began, "Curtis, there are two kinds of boys here. There are boys who obey the rules and thereby earn certain privileges, and there are boys who break the rules and live to regret it. It is entirely up to you what kind of boy you will be."

"Yeah, the warden told me," I interrupted.

Rackley wasn't bothered. "What kind of a boy are you, Curtis?" he asked softly. "Do you have enough spine to break the rules, or are you more interested in … privileges?"

It was obvious which answer would be the right one as far as my new roommates were concerned, but I wasn't yet sure I wanted to throw myself wholeheartedly on their side. I looked at the rest of the faces, hoping for some kind of clue about what they were planning to do to me, when another boy who had stationed himself at the door hissed, "Marks is coming!"

Immediately, the boys who had surrounded me melted away and took seats at various tables. I grabbed the nearest chair and sank into it, feeling just the slightest bit shaky and wondering what was coming next. I didn't have long to wait. A chubby dark haired man bounced into the room, looking more cheerful than any person I had yet seen inside these walls.

"Curtis?" he asked, looking around the room. "Which one of you is Curtis?"

I got back up from the chair. "I am."

It turned out this Marks was the head teacher, and he wanted to ask me about what grade I'd been in, what classes I was taking, how well I usually did in school and stuff like that. I wondered why he didn't already have a file with all this stuff, but then I thought about how quick they'd grabbed me and decided that maybe the school hadn't had time to ship it over yet. Marks seemed nice enough – I might even have liked him.

If he hadn't been one of the people keeping me a prisoner.

_To Be Continued_


	8. The Home

**A/N** Hurrah! An update in a much more reasonable time than the last, despite a very pestilential cold. Thanks again to all reviewers!

**Chapter 8**

Lights out was at ten, and it was as pitch black as could be in that room. I lay there on my hard bunk, listening to the breathing of the other nineteen boys. After a while, someone at the far end of the room began to snore and the kid above me made a funny kind of whistle when he sucked in air. I closed my eyes, but I knew that sleeping tonight was about as likely as an oil well suddenly springing up in the middle of the floor. I was so hungry for home that it was like an actual knot tied up in my intestines. I couldn't help thinking about the week Johnny and I spent hiding out in that old church because I'd been pretty homesick then, too, not to mention that we were freezing cold, had no beds, and were wanted for murder. But I'd had one of my best friends in the world with me, and at least I'd been free – sort of. Now all I had was a bunch of strangers who might lick the tar out of me first chance they got, and I was locked up in a jail so tight the prisoners couldn't even smile at the dinner table.

Hot tears began squeezing beneath my eyelids, and I buried my face in my pillow so that if anyone else was still awake, they couldn't hear me sniffing. After a while the tears dried up, and I just lay there, paralyzed in a misery that encased me like iron. It seemed like forever, but I reckon it was only a little past midnight when something happened. At first I couldn't make out what it was, so I lifted my head from my pillow and listened hard. That's when I figured it out because there wasn't anything to hear. All the noises of breathing and snoring and whistling that had filled the room had stopped, and everything was dead silent.

I didn't know what was coming, but I had a sinking feeling it was headed for me. There wasn't anything I could do about it – I had no place to hide and no weapon to grab, but I at least didn't want to be caught on my back, so I sat up and put my back against the wall. After another minute, I heard a couple of soft bumps, like maybe some people had slipped out of the top bunks, and I started to get the creepiest feeling that there were invisible people surrounding and watching me. A match spurted, a candle was lit, and as I blinked my eyes to adjust to the light, I could see all nineteen of my roommates gathered around my bed.

Rackley was holding the candle, but when he saw that I was awake and sitting up he handed it to Wilson and folded his arms across his chest. "Curtis," he said in a soft voice that wouldn't even have carried to the other side of the room, "you never answered our question."

I didn't play dumb or ask him what question, just looked him straight in the eye and said in an equally soft voice, "I'm doing whatever I need to bust out of this joint. So you tell me, can I do that better with privileges or by breaking the rules?"

"Let me put it this way, Curtis," Rackley answered without blinking an eyelash at my less than submissive reply. "There are thirty full time teachers and staff who live here, which means one adult for ever ten of us. They can't watch us all the time – it's impossible. But," he bent over my bed so that his face was only inches away from my own, "there are _three hundred_ of us."

I've always been pretty good at math. "Then I guess I'll be breaking a few rules," I replied calmly, not letting my eyes waver from Rackley's.

He nodded and straightened back up. "I thought you looked like you had sense. Now listen, you aren't the only one who wants to break out of here, but it's not easy. They've got locks and bars and watchmen and dogs, not to mention that they schedule every minute of every day. It's possible to escape, but only with a lot of planning and cooperation. If your help is needed, we'll tell you and you'll give it. If you come up with a plan for escape, you run it by me first. Understand?"

I nodded. "I understand."

"Maybe you should tell him what happened to Pemberton," Wilson suggested.

Pemberton, I remembered had been the name of the last guy who'd slept in my bed.

Rackley nodded and said, "Pemberton decided that maybe the best way for him to get out of here was to turn double agent. He sold out some guys during an escape attempt. You'll notice that he's not here anymore."

Rackley paused and I realized that I was expected to speak. "What happened to him?"

"Nobody's really sure, but they rushed him to the hospital with two broken legs. They say he'll never walk again."

Rackley's emotionless voice sent a string of chills down my spine, and I had no doubt that he had been personally involved with whatever had happened to Pemberton. "I understand," I said again.

Rackley blew out the candle and although I heard nothing, I knew that the boys were returning to their own beds. I lay back on my own pillow and discovered that, despite the threatening nature of the conversation, I felt a tiny bit more hopeful than I had before. These guys were serious and smart and organized. If anyone was going to break out of this place it would be Rackley and his friends, and when they went I would be with them.

The next morning I started to learn what Rackley's remark about our schedule had meant. A deafening ringing from the electric bells hung in every room jerked us out of bed at six o'clock, and then there was a scramble to get dressed and snatch a chance in the bathroom before heading to the dining room for breakfast at six thirty. After breakfast, which was cold lumpy grits and one piece of toast, we all had an hour's worth of chores before the school bell rang at eight. I was told to along with Wilson for a couple of days so that he could teach me the various tasks before I got assigned to a work rotation. He was on hallways – every hallway in the home got swept and scrubbed each day except Sunday. With two of us working, we finished his sections a little early, which let me get to the classrooms and figure out where I was supposed to be. Unsurprisingly, it was with Wilson, who as it turned out was in my grade. I didn't sit next to him though, because they arranged us in alphabetical rows. The muttered explanation I got out of him before he headed to his seat in the back of the room was that we studied the usual things – English, math, history, and science – but instead of moving around from classroom to classroom like in a normal high school, we would stay in one room and the teachers would come to us.

That was the longest morning of my life. We got to stand up and stretch for all of two minutes in between lectures, and by the end of it, my rear was as sore as if I'd been riding a bronco. Plus, the lectures were enough to put you to sleep faster than one of Soda's massages. The teachers mostly took this superior attitude, like they were so much smarter than us they didn't know how we could possibly ever learn everything, but the stuff they actually taught would have been easy for a fifth grader. The only teacher who didn't act like that was Mr. Marks, who was the history teacher. He was lecturing on Medieval ages, and he put the details of all those popes and kings together in a way that sounded just like a story. He didn't yell at us either or tell us even once how stupid we obviously were. I figured he must have hidden his niceness pretty well during his job interview or the warden never would have hired him.

The worst hour was English, which was taught by Trill. He was about as opposite from Miss Meriwether and Mr. Syme as it was possible to get. The way he talked about _Romeo and Juliet_, which I'd actually already studied in the fall, it was about as interesting as the stock quotes in last week's paper. To top it off, right in the middle of class he decided that he wanted to embarrass the new boy.

"Curtis!" he snapped.

I stood up because we're always supposed to stand when a teacher addresses us. "Yes, sir?"

"The class seems to have forgotten everything they've read so far. Why don't you give a summary of Act 4?"

Obviously he wanted me to have to say that I'd never read the play so that he could make fun of my ignorance, and later events showed me that if I'd been smart, I'd of let him do it. But he made me pretty mad, standing up there with a smirk on his face like he couldn't believe this piece of white trash could even pronounce 'Shakespeare,' so instead of reminding him that I'd just joined the class that morning I said smartly, "Yes, sir. In Act 4, Juliet goes to Friar Lawrence for help so that she won't have to marry Paris. He gives her a potion that will make her look like she's dead, and she takes it home and drinks it while everyone's getting read for the wedding. Her nurse finds her and they think she's dead, so they bury her in the family tomb."

Trill glared at me like he wished the floor would open and swallow me up, but he grunted and muttered, "Sit down."

Classes were over at twelve, and then we had forty-five minutes for lunch before the heavy chores started. Wilson and I were assigned to the garden, where we supposed to be hoeing the ground in preparation for planting. Most of the garden already had vegetable seeds down, so there were just a few of us out there, supervised by one of the math teachers, a pudgy man named Mr. Brinkle. It was real hot, and I was sweating heavily through my blue shirt as I swung my hoe. The ground was pretty hard since it'd been a dry spring, and I'd hadn't been at it thirty minutes before I was dying for a drink of water. Even though he was just watching, Mr. Brinkle looked as uncomfortable as I felt. Sweat trickled in little streams over the curves of his face, and he was getting red in the face and puffing a little. Suddenly he called one of the senior boys over to him and announced, "I'm leaving Johnson in charge. You boys keep working," before trotting off pretty quick toward the house.

The moment Mr. Brinkle was out of sight, Johnson called, "Everybody take five."

Wilson and I tossed down our hoes and flopped onto the ground.

"Shade," I groaned. "Water."

"We get a water break at two-thirty," Wilson informed me. And Brinkle will probably leave Johnson in charge the whole time. He hates being outside."

"That's good," I mumbled, my muscles aching. I'm pretty strong, especially for my size, but I wasn't used to this kind of work, and I knew I'd be stiff as a board by evening, with no Soda to rub out the knots for me. Thinking about home threatened to make tears prick the backs of my eyes, so I hurriedly asked Wilson a question that had been bothering me. "Trill told me that if I broke any rules I'd have to choose between his punishment and Mr. Warden's. What'd he mean?"

Wilson sat up and rubbed at the dust on his cheek. "Every time you break a rule you get demerits. After you've earned fifty, you're up for punishment. Supposedly, the Warden only handles it if it's something really bad, but Trill always gives us a choice, I guess because he likes hearing us say we'd rather not bother Mr. Warden, thank you very much, _sir_." The last word came out with sarcastic vehemence, and I guessed that Wilson had said that very phrase to Trill once or twice himself.

"What's the difference?" I asked.

"Trill canes you, and he enjoys it. You won't be able to lie on your back for a week. But the Warden…" Wilson paused and I thought I saw him shiver despite the blazing sun. "The Warden locks you in a closet so small you can't even sit down. No light, no food, no water, no bathroom for twenty-four hours. If you make a noise, he takes you out and canes you, then puts you back in."

I understood why Wilson had shivered. What he had described was solitary confinement in a maximum security prison. "I'll take the cane," I said.

Wilson sighed softly. "We always do."

I had a bad sunburn on my neck by the end of the afternoon, but we finished the hoeing so the garden would be ready for planting the next day. The evening passed exactly like the one before, with supervised studying before bed. The next day was Saturday, so instead having class in the morning, we spent the entire day working. Despite my sunburn, I'd kind of hoped that Wilson and I would be sent back out to plant the garden, but we were put in the laundry instead, washing and ironing mountains of blue pants and blue shirts, not to mention socks and underwear.

On Sunday, we got a break from the chores. In the morning, we went to a chapel service that was held in the assembly hall. You didn't have to go, but the alternative was kitchen duty, so we all went. There was a musty old organ in one corner that slowly wheezed out the hymn we mumbled from the ragged songbooks, and then Mr. Brinkle, apparently a minister as well as a math teacher, got up and gave a long, rambling sermon. About the only thing I got out of it was that if I broke any of the school rules, I was doomed to hell, no exceptions. It was the worst church service I've ever been to in my life. After lunch we got more supervised study time and then independent reading time. Only there wasn't anything to read, at least in the freshman study room, except old newspapers and a set of encyclopedias from 1922.

Monday was a repeat of Friday's routine. In the evening, I was sitting at a table with Wilson and some of the other boys from our room when one of Mr. Warden's errand boys, one of the few who chose privileges over punishment, came in. "Which one of you is Curtis?" he asked loudly.

I stood up. "That's me."

He jerked his head toward the door. "They want you in the office, so scram."

I felt the glances of the other boys skitter across me, and my stomach twinged nervously. I remembered Wilson's description of Mr. Warden's punishments, and I frantically wondered whether I'd somehow broken an important rule without meaning to. However, when I got to the office, the only person there was Mr. Warden's secretary. He nodded toward a phone that lay off the hook and said, "Phone for you, Curtis. You got seven minutes."

I ran over and snatched up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Ponyboy, is that really you?" my brother Soda's welcome voice came over the wires.

"Yeah, yeah it's really me," I gasped, suddenly having to fight back sobs. "Soda, I…"

"Pony, you all right?" he demanded anxiously. "They ain't hurting you or anything?"

"No, I mean, I'm fine. I just… Are you all right?"

"Yeah, we're fine. I mean, we miss you something awful. Darry just about went crazy when we came home and found you gone, and I reckon I did too."

There was a painful silence during which I imagined all the hurt my brothers must be feeling, and then I said, "Soda, I don't even know what happened!"

"We do," Soda said grimly. "It was Roger Brady."

"What!"

"Turns out he's some fancy pants lawyer, and after we got arrested the other night, he used that to convince the state that you needed a safer environment." Sarcasm dripped from his voice.

"But I didn't have anything to do with that! The police admitted they didn't have any good reason to arrest us!" I protested.

"I know, but I guess he twisted it to make it look pretty bad to a judge. Pony, I'm so sorry. This whole thing is my fault. If I hadn't taken…" His voice broke.

"Soda, Soda it ain't…" I began, but his voice cut me off. "Darry needs to talk to you. I love you little brother."

"I love you to," I managed, and then Darry's voice was sounding out of the receiver.

"Ponyboy? How you doin'?"

I leaned against the counter and closed my eyes, wondering how his voice could sound so comforting even from a hundred miles away. "Darry, I'm so sorry…"

"Little Buddy, this ain't your fault and don't think for one minute that it is. Listen, we've got a lawyer and we're working on something to get you back."

"Really?" I asked slowly. I had been assuming that there was nothing my brothers could do to reverse the judge's decision, but Darry sounded confident.

"Yeah, the lawyer thinks it's got a real good chance of working, but Pony, you gotta be good, you hear me? Don't you do anything to get into trouble, and I mean _anything_. Because if you get in trouble there, it's just going to confirm all the lies Brady's been telling about us."

"O…ok," I managed. "Darry, what are you going to do?"

"We're…"

"Thirty seconds," the secretary suddenly said.

"Darry, I only got thirty more seconds."

"Trust me, Pony, we're going to pull through this one. Just stay out of trouble, and we'll call again next week. I love you, kid, and I sure do miss you."

"I love you too, Darry," I managed, and then the line went dead. I hung up the phone and slowly walked back to the study room. The other guys looked at me curiously, but I ignored them and stuck my nose in my book. For the first time since Mr. Jenkins had shown up at my front door, my heart was buzzing with real hope. Darry had told me that we would pull through this, and when Darry said things, they were usually so.

I was bewildered by the news that Roger Brady had been responsible for the state stepping in, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. I already knew that he disliked me, and if he'd remembered what happened at the dance, then he'd be plenty angry and in a mood for revenge, on both me and Darry. Anger boiled up inside me, and I started imagining what I'd do if I ever got that cowardly, low down Soc wannabe alone in a dark alley.

Despite a long afternoon spent working hard in the hot sun, I was unable to fall asleep that night. I tossed around in my bunk for awhile and was finally dropping into a doze when a hand clapped over my mouth and brought me wide awake. The hand belong to Rackley, and when he was sure I wouldn't make a noise, he removed it.

"Curtis, I told you that we'd tell you if we needed your help. Well, I'm telling you now."

_To Be Continued_

**A/N** Muahahaha! I'm getting quite addicted to these cliffhangers! At any rate, I'd like to encourage all you lurkers to check in again. Once every four chapters isn't exorbitant, is it?


	9. The Crime

**A/N **_Philippa slinks in, looking around guiltily._ So, my writing this summer didn't go at all the way I had envisioned it. Sigh. It's been a preposterously long time since I updated. I can say I have every intention of finishing this story. I have not lost interest in it, I do not have writer's block, I am not eloping to Maui with a Filipino surfer (more's the pity). I'm just being hit hard by the realities of graduate school. All that to say – the updates may be slow, but I promise they will keep coming, and I'll try hard to make them worth the wait!

Enormous thank yous to all reviewers! You guys are the reason I write!

**Chapter 9**

"We've got a job that needs done, Curtis, and you're the man for it," Rackley hissed.

Darry's warning was clear in my head. _Don't you do anything to get into trouble_, but I also remembered Rackley's threat. _There are thirty fulltime teachers and staff, but there are three hundred of us._ The only option that might get me out of this unhurt was to tell the truth.

"I can't!" I whispered frantically.

"Can't is not in your vocabulary, Curtis," Rackley seethed, grabbing me by the arm and hauling me out of bed.

"It's my brothers," I begged. "They called me this evening. They're working to get me out, but I can't do anything to get in trouble or I'll blow the deal."

"He's telling the truth," an unexpected whisper came out of the darkness. I'd thought that Rackley and I were the only ones awake, but Wilson swung himself down from his bunk. "He did get a phone call."

"How very nice for him," Rackley whispered sarcastically. "But it doesn't work that way in here. There's only two sides, Curtis, us and them. Are you telling me you want to defect?" He grabbed the front of my pajamas so that I was forced to stand on my toes while he breathed down into my face.

I looked up into his fierce eyes and remembered Pemberton, who would never walk again. I knew without a doubt that Rackley wouldn't hesitate to make sure I ended up in the same condition. "What do you want me to do?" I asked.

"You sure about this, Curtis?" he sneered. "Sure you wouldn't rather work for _privileges_?"

"Yeah," I muttered. "I'm sure."

"Get back in bed, Wilson," Rackley ordered, and the younger boy obeyed immediately. "Ok, Curtis. Here's what you're going to do." He pressed a key into my hand. "Trill's room is in the next dormitory."

"I know," I whispered. I'd seen it when I was scrubbing floors.

"He always sleeps with the door open so he can hear if anyone gets out of bed. There's a cupboard on the wall straight across from the door. The key will open it. On the top shelf on the right hand side there's a box with the razors in it. Take one out, lock the cupboard, and come back."

In other words, steal right under the nose of the enemy. "Anything else?" I asked, a little sarcastically.

"Yeah, be quiet. Trill's a light sleeper."

_Great_, I thought. _Just peachy_. I put the key in my mouth so that I wouldn't drop it on the way. Hopefully I wouldn't swallow it either. Wiping my sweaty palms on my pajamas, I took a deep breath.

"Get going," Rackley hissed. "The sooner you're back, the more sleep we get."

Resisting the urge to say something rude in return, I took one final breath and tiptoed out into the hall and to the doorway of the next room. It seemed like every board in the place had a distinctive creak that night. I moved slowly, silently sliding my feet instead of stepping, but it didn't help much. The squeaking and groaning seemed louder and louder until I thought it rivaled an orchestra tuning up for a big show, but none of the sleeping boys stirred. I wondered if they had been warned that I would be coming through.

The doorway to Trill's room stood wide open, just as Rackley had promised. I paused there and gripped the wood with my hands, trying to make them stop shaking. I could hear hoarse breathing from the direction of what must be the bed, although I couldn't see a thing. His room didn't have a window, so the only light was a little moonlight that came from the room behind. A terrifying thought hit me. What if Trill had booby trapped his floor? There was no way I would ever be able to avoid anything like that in the darkness. Panic flooded my mind and I had to force myself to breath deep and slow and push ideas about tripwires away. Rackley hadn't said anything about traps, and surely this wasn't the first time they'd snuck in here.

When I was as calm as I figured I was going to get, I forced myself to ease forward. My eyes kept straining through the darkness, but I didn't see the cupboard until my nose practically ran into it. I almost sighed in relief, but caught myself just in time as I pulled the key out of my mouth and wiped it on my pajamas, then felt along the edges of the door for the keyhole. Miraculously, I got the key in on the first try. It made a slight scraping sound as it entered the lock, but Trill's breathing didn't alter. Tightening my sweaty grip, I turned the key. The lock clicked. Across the room, the hoarse rasping hesitated.

How long had it been since I heard a sound? A minute? Five? Then Trill's breathing resumed, and I realized it had only been a second, two at most. My hands were shaking again, and I had to wait half a minute before I could pull open the cupboard door, praying that it wouldn't squeak. It didn't.

The razors were exactly where Rackley had said they would be. I found the box with my fingers, noiselessly lifted one off the top, and stuck it between my teeth. My hands heavy with dread, I shut and relocked the door, but the tiny click didn't seem to disturb Trill this time. Tucking the key back into my mouth, I moved as quickly as I dared, wanting only one thing in life – to get back to bed.

The return trip passed in a kind of blur. One moment I was holding my breath and sneaking through the strange room. The next, I was beside my own bed where Rackley was sitting, waiting for me. I dried off the key and razor and handed them over without a word, then crawled gratefully beneath my blanket.

I lay awake for a long time, shaking a little and trying to figure out why I was so scared. I'd done plenty of sneaking around in my life, but none of it had ever affected me like this. Part of it was because I was scared of messing up and being kept away from Darry and Soda forever, but I think most of it was because of that place. Somehow, when they locked us up so tight and took away everything that was beautiful or interesting or comforting, a little seed of fear could sprout and spread faster than crab grass during a rainy summer. As I finally drifted off to sleep, I wondered if Robert Frost had ever written a poem about anything like. I would have to ask Miss Meriwether when I got back. _When_, I told myself firmly. I refused to think _if._

I felt on edge the whole next day, like maybe Trill had seen me in his room after all and was just waiting for the right moment to pounce on me, but nothing happened. At first I couldn't figure out why the theft hadn't been discovered as soon as we all got up and dressed for the day, but then I remembered what Wilson had said about only being allowed to shave every other day and figured that this must be an off day. But tomorrow Trill would discover what had happened, unless...

Unless Rackley planned to make me put the razor back tonight. I didn't know if that thought of having to repeat last night's performance was worse than Trill finding out a razor was gone or not.

"You seem a little jumpy, Curtis," Wilson commented. A storm had kicked up outside and every crack of thunder was making me jerk. Wilson had a knowing look on his face, though, and I bet that he knew it wasn't the storm that made me nervous.

"I'm fine," I muttered, bending over my math homework.

Wilson silently scribbled on his own paper for a while, and then he whispered, "Are your brothers really going to get you out?"

"They're trying," I whispered back. "They have a lawyer."

"Think they got a chance?"

"Yes," I insisted, a little too loudly. Heads turned in our direction, and I tried to appear absorbed in my work. When everyone had stopped paying attention, I whispered very softly, "My brothers ain't gonna let me go."

"That's cool," Wilson replied, a strange lack of emotion in his voice.

I suddenly wondered if Wilson had anyone on the outside working to bring him home, and whether Rackley or any of the other guys I'd met did. Maybe that was why they were so intent on breaking themselves out – because they were the only ones who could.

There was no chance of my sleeping that night. I lay tense and wide awake under my blanket, waiting for the invisible hand to touch my shoulder or clap over my mouth. Hours – I suppose it was only two or three but it felt like ten – dragged by, until at last, my eyes straining through the darkness, I saw what I had been waiting for as Rackley silently rose from his bed. Thinking it better to pretend that he found me asleep, I closed my eyes and waited. I waited until I felt as though the entire room had gotten up and surrounded me, and then my eyes flew open only to see that the space by my bed was empty.

I sat up a little and squinted around. I could just make out two forms, tall and short. After a moment, the short one glided to the door and disappeared. Rackley leaned against the post of the bed, waiting as he had for me the night before. Given his position, I guessed that Wilson had been elected for this mission, whatever it was.

Relief flooded through me, and I went limp against my mattress as my tension disappeared. I wouldn't have to go through the ordeal again after all. Apparently I had satisfied Rackley with my first performance, and maybe by the time my name came up on the rule breaking rotation again, I would be out of here. A crack of thunder rent the air outside, but it no longer made me jump. Instead, I thought gratefully that the noise would make it harder for Trill to hear Wilson sneaking into his room.

A leaden weariness accompanied the release, and my eyes closed almost before I told them to. I was just sinking into a dream where Sodapop and a hundred packs of cigarettes were waiting for me on a sunny beach, when I was suddenly jerked back out of it. Dazed by sleep, I lay still for a moment, trying to figure out what had woken me up, before it became obvious. Heavy footsteps, audible even over storm, were marching down the hallway. They came into our room, and a moment later the lights snapped on.

"Everybody up!" snapped Trill.

All around me, boys were scrambling out of bed and standing stiffly by the ends of their bunks, so I did the same. I was in position before I got a good look at Trill. He had Wilson by the ear, twisting it upward so that the guy had to stand on his toes to keep it from being ripped off his head. I snuck a glance down the row and saw Rackley standing calmly by his bunk, as though he'd never been away from it.

Trill marched Wilson into the center of the room and the whole time he spoke, he kept turning slowly around to face each of us in turn, dragging the boy with him. "One of you has been caught in a serious crime," Trill proclaimed, looking happier than I had ever seen him. "Can anyone guess what that crime might be?" He made an entire revolution, waiting for an answer although no one was dumb enough to open their mouths. "Theft. This rodent, this louse, this blot upon the country's economy, actually tried to steal something. I hope you all know that the punishment for stealing in this institution is always immediate and severe." His eyes seemed to linger on me as he finished, and my heart froze in my chest.

Trill suddenly thrust Wilson away, so that he staggered and nearly fell. His ear was bright red. "Now, Wilson," Trill almost purred. "You're choice is before you. Can we deal with this now? Or would you rather wait and bother Mr. Warden with it in the morning?"

Wilson's face went white, with fury I think, but he said what I knew he would. "I'd rather not bother Mr. Warden, thank you, sir."

"Then you know what we'll need. Go and get it please."

Wilson turned and walked out of the room. At first I couldn't believe my eyes. Wasn't it obvious that he would make a break for it? But Trill waited confidently, not even bothering to watch the door, and in under a minute Wilson was back, carrying a long, slender wooden rod. He handed it wordlessly to Trill, who took it and caressed its length as though it were something precious.

"Strip, Wilson," he commanded.

I thought I saw Wilson's jaw clench, but he obediently took off his pajamas and stood in front of us all, stark naked. I hadn't quite realized how skinny he was, but even from a distance I could have counted the ribs on his side and the knobs of his backbone.

"Fifteen strokes is the punishment for theft," Trill announced. "Who will count for me?"

"I will," Rackley said immediately, stepping forward.

I stared at him in disbelief. After all his grand speeches about privileges and punishment, and all his threats about what he would do to me if I ever defected to the other side, how could he have the gall to participate in his friend's punishment? The friend who had only been following his orders.

None of the others seemed surprised by his behavior, not even Wilson who just stared stoically at the far wall. Trill began to circle his victim, flexing the rod back and forth in his hands and leering. Suddenly, with no warning, the cane flashed out and cracked across Wilson's back. A red welt appeared straight along his shoulders.

"One," Rackley said clearly.

Trill nodded a little, like he was particularly pleased about something, and made another circle. The second hit came exactly like the first, with no warning, and another line appeared a little lower, exactly parallel with the first. During these and all the strokes that followed, Wilson gave no indication that he was aware of the pain. His stood straight, eyes open and focused, hands loose by his sides, absolutely silent.

I was ready to scream though, by the time the last blow fell, precisely on the back of his knees. Wilson staggered and nearly fell, but he made no sound and no expression of pain crossed his face.

"Fifteen," Rackley intoned.

Trill smiled as he stepped back and admired his handiwork. Wilson's body, from his shoulders to his knees, looked as though someone had taken a ruler and a red felt pen to it. "You may all return to bed," our tormentor announced. "And if anyone else puts so much as a toe out of this room, you will all be punished."

We immediately crawled back into our bunks. Wilson climbed up to his slowly, carrying his pajamas in his teeth, and fell face first across his pillow. I thought I saw him trembling, but the next second the lights snapped out and I couldn't be sure.

What I could be sure of was that I didn't sleep a wink the rest of that night. Wilson's horrible punishment was obviously what disturbed me the most, but Rackley's betrayal ran a close second. I passed an hour or so imagining the things I'd do to him if I ever caught him alone on my own territory, or if I ever caught him alone, period.

If felt good to replace my anxiety with anger for a while, but gradually I fell to worrying about Darry and Soda again. I hoped that they weren't too anxious about me, not that it wouldn't have been justified given what had just happened to Wilson, and that they weren't going to do anything stupid in their plan to get me out. I wondered how they were going to pay for that lawyer Darry mentioned, and then I was seized with the awful idea that Darry was going to mortgage the house. We owned it free and clear and it was one of the reasons we had been allowed to stay together, since we had a decent place to live. But I couldn't see any other way my brothers could come up with that kind of money, and my certainty brought on a whole new set of worries. How would we ever pay a mortgage? What would happen if we lost the house? Would being in debt act against Darry's custody rights?

By the time the wake-up bell clanged, I felt like something the cat had dragged in. The nights of poor sleep were really catching up with me, and I was stiff all over from tension. But I knew that it was nothing compared to what Wilson must be feeling. My eyes darted to his bunk but it was empty, and he was nowhere in the room. Neither was Rackley.

Partly because I was tired and partly because I was so busy thinking I couldn't spare much attention to the things around me, I was the last one out of the dormitory. I was just tightening my shoelace when Rackley came in. Not paying me any attention, he walked briskly to his bunk and dropped to his knees to put something back in his drawer. I stared at him, all the anger inside suddenly twisting into an explosive knot.

Rackley stood and hurried back toward the door. Before I even knew I was going to do it, I leaped in front of him and socked him in the stomach. He gasped and staggered backward. I moved in to follow it up with a hard punch to his chin, but before I could connect, Rackley grabbed my arm and forcefully swung me around, then shoved me up against the wall, my arm pinned painfully behind me.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, obviously furious but keeping his voice low so that we wouldn't attract attention.

I struggled, but it was no use – he was too big. The only reason I'd gotten in the first hit was because I'd taken him so off guard. "Traitor!" I hissed. "Filthy two-face! What happened to all your talk about taking punishment over privileges, huh? I can't believe everyone else in this place acts like you're some kind of big deal, when all you are is a damn phony!"

Rackley spun me around and rammed me back into the wall, pushing his forearm tight against my collar bone to keep me in place. "Curtis, you have five seconds to explain yourself."

"You counted for Trill!" I practically spat. "If that's not begging for privileges, I don't know what is!"

He let me go so suddenly that I fell forward and only just caught myself from landing on my knees. I clenched my fists and glared at him, but his face was suddenly, eerily, calm.

"Did you want to count for Trill?" he asked quietly.

I snarled back, "I'd rather get beat myself."

Rackley nodded, as though that was the answer he expected. "You and every other guy in this room. But somebody had to do it, you understand? Or he would have punished everyone." I know my shock must have shown on my face because he looked contemptuous and then he said, "You're just lucky it wasn't your back I was counting down, Curtis. You were slated to put back that razor. One guy runs the job all the way through, that's how we do it."

"Then why wasn't it me?" I asked, still feeling stunned.

"Wilson asked for it," Rackley said briefly, then turned his back on me and walked out.

I didn't get a chance to talk to Wilson until that evening in the study room. He glanced up as I slipped into the seat next to him but didn't say anything.

"Rackley told me you asked for the job last night," I whispered, glancing around to make sure no one was trying to listen in. "Why'd you do it?"

Wilson kept moving his pencil down his math problem, and for a minute I thought he wasn't going to answer. But then he said softly, "You got a real chance of getting out of here. Not like the rest of us. Why foul that up?" There was a strain of sadness in his tone that I'd never heard before.

I couldn't think of anything to say. Words just don't quite cover it when a guy you barely know takes a beating to give you something he can never have. I grabbed my pencil and scribbled our address across the corner of a page, then tore it off and pushed it toward him. "If you're ever in my area, look me up," I said. "We got a couple of spare beds."

For a minute I thought he wasn't going to take it, but then he folded the scrap up and slipped it into his pocket. "Thanks."

We worked in silence for awhile, and then I finally asked a question I'd been dying to know the answer to since the moment I arrived. "Hey Wilson," I muttered.

He looked at me cautiously. "What?"

"Is there any way a guy can get a cigarette in this place?"

I tried to keep the desperation out of my voice, but I don't think I did a very good job. Wilson suddenly looked amused, although I didn't see anything funny in my situation. "Weed fiend, huh?"

"Something like that," I muttered.

He nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you," I whispered fervently, and turned back to my own work.

I was half ashamed of how desperate my craving had become, particularly when I had so many more severe problems than no cigarettes. But my addiction was firmly fixed, and with each day of deprivation, my cravings got worse until they were like a horrible itch. I could be distracted for a little while, but the moment my attention was free, the driving need for a smoke popped back up. I didn't know what, if anything, Wilson was actually going to do, but I was pathetically grateful even for the promise of relief.

The next day I was finally assigned my own work rotation. I scrubbed toilet in the morning, and then that afternoon I got kitchen duty. There were five cooks, all of them men. They seemed to be in some kind of pecking order, with the more senior cooks getting to choose their helpers first. In the end, there was only me left for the last cook, a dumpy little man with a fringe of gray hair and fat lips that pursed together like they were held by a drawstring.

"I always get the new ones," he grumbled as he beckoned me back to a storeroom filled with bins of vegetables, but once we were out of sight of the other cooks, his grumpy expression disappeared. "You a friend of Wilson's?" he asked.

"Sort of," I answered carefully.

He nodded and pointed at a bin of potatoes, next to which was a ten gallon bucket and the biggest bowl I had ever seen with a knife resting in the bottom. "Peel those," he ordered, sinking into a chair and propping his feet up on another bin full of onions.

"How many?" I asked.

"Until the bowl is full," he directed, tilting back the chair on two legs and folding his arms over his chest as his eyes drifted closed.

_He sleeps while I work?_ I thought in disgust. I was so busy mentally cussing his lazy behind that I almost missed his next sentence:

"When you're done, we'll go outside and have a smoke."

As the words sank in, my jaw dropped a little, and then I sat down hard on the little stool intended for me and grabbed for the knife. I have never peeled potatoes so fast in my life, but it seemed that the more I threw in the bowl, the bigger it got. At last, when the mound was just starting to curve above the rim, and when I was sure that my fingers didn't have the strength left to grip one more potato, the cook opened his eyes. He looked at my bowl, nodded once, and said, "They never understand how I get so much done with just one guy. I tell 'em I stand over you with a belt." Laughing to himself, he got up from the chair and walked to the far end of the storeroom with me hot on his heels.

There was a door there that you couldn't see from the entrance to the kitchen. The cook pulled a key out of his pocket and opened the door, and we both stepped outside. It was windy, and the wind smelled of rain and grass and all kinds of growing things – the perfect weather for just smoking and dreaming. (I admit, any weather would have seemed perfect at that moment.) There was a stack of old crates with a little space between them and the wall. The cook motioned me in, and I sidled in and perched on the edge of a box. My hands shook as he passed me one cigarette and one match, then stood at the entrance to my little hidey hole, lighting up himself.

At first I couldn't even bring myself to strike the match, but lifted the perfect white cylinder to my nose and took a long, glorious sniff. When I was sure my hands were steady enough, I lit up. The first deep drag was heaven, and so was the second and the third and the fourth. I made it last as long as possible, smoking right down to the very tip of the butt until I singed my fingers and dropped it with the pain. The cook had already finished, and when he saw that I was done, beckoned me out so that we could return to the storeroom.

He shrugged. "What's it matter? What matters is, I got cigarettes and you got hands that peel potatoes. See you in two days."

"Couldn't I come back tomorrow?" I pleaded.

"You wanna get caught? Nobody messes with Mr. Warden's duty roster."

I saw the sense in that and didn't argue further, but I was pretty sure eternity would have come and gone by the time two days passed.

I don't know whether smoking with Hank helped or not. The relief only lasted an hour or two, and then the old itch was back until my next kitchen duty. But they did give me something to look forward to and created a break in the routine. I ruefully remembered my failed intention to cut back on smoking for track, and fervently wished that I'd had the determination to do it then. If I'd gotten down to one, instead of my usual two, packs a day, then maybe I'd only be half as miserable now.

It was five days and two cigarettes later that a messenger from Mr. Warden's office pulled me out of English class. Ever since Wilson's beating, I could hardly stand to look at Trill, so at first I was so happy to be escaping thirty minutes of his presence that I forgot to wonder why I had been summoned. We were halfway there before I thought to ask, "Do I have a phone call?"

"No," the messenger said curtly.

And that was when I panicked. Except for phone calls, there were no good reasons for going to the Warden's office. Smoking behind the kitchen was the first thing I thought of, followed immediately by the escapade with the razor. Or perhaps I had broken one of the Home's many rules and not even known it. But it didn't really matter. Wilson had told me that the Warden had only one punishment for all crimes great or small – solitary.

My palms went sweaty as my heart began to race. I considered making a run for it – the only thing that stopped me was the thought that perhaps double crimes meant double time in the closet. Oddly, the true explanation for what was going on never occurred to me, even though it had been in my thoughts almost constantly from the moment I was dragged by the cop onto the bus.

I slunk into the office expecting damnation or the next thing to it. What I saw was Darry, my brother, waiting for me with open arms and smile that said that, somehow, he'd won. 

_To Be Continued_

**A/N** Aw, no traumatic cliffhanger. My evil genius must be slipping!


	10. The Solution

**A/N** Behold! She emerges from the graduate school caverns of doom! No, I'm not dead, nor have I abandoned this story. I have had the worst semester of my life. But it's over, except for the grading, so here is the next chapter, which I have literally been writing for months. Thank you so much all of you who reviewed, and I'd like to especially thank those of you who nominated and voted for this story during the Wrong Side of the Tracks Awards a while back. It was very flattering to have my story put forward! I hope you enjoy the chapter, and thanks for sticking with me through my academic purgatory!

**Chapter 10**

"Pony?" Darry's worried voice asked, and I realized that I had been standing in Mr. Warden's doorway, staring like some kind of halfwit. I jumped forward and threw my arms around my brother, and felt his arms close about me in return. He felt even solider than I remembered, and feeling his strength as he half crushed the air out of me, I wasn't surprised at all that he was there. He could do anything he set out to do. He was Superman.

"Can we go?" my own personal hero asked tightly, still keeping one arm around me.

I finally realized that Mr. Warden was in the room too, standing behind his desk and looking as though a rotten smell had crept up his nostrils. He nodded reluctantly. "The release papers are all in order. I only need your signature here." He shoved a paper across the desk, and while Darry scrawled his signature with his free hand, Mr. Warden turned a fierce gaze on me. "Curtis, I trust you will remember the things you have learned during your time here with us."

Darry's fingers biting into my shoulder kept me from blurting out all the things I really wanted to say. "Yes, sir," I muttered.

Then Darry threw down the pen and, his arm still around my shoulders, we walked out of there, just like that. I felt dazed and as though I was walking through a mist. The only thing that felt real was Darry's hand guiding me down the hall and out the front door to the little parking lot where our battered Ford sat waiting. At the moment, I think that little car was the most beautiful thing in the world to me.

We were nearly there when the passenger's front door slammed open, and Sodapop exploded out into the air. "Pony!" he shouted, and then we were both running toward each other. We collided halfway between Darry and the car, and then I was sobbing all over his t-shirt, and I don't mean the quiet kind of tears I'd been leaking out onto my pillow at night, but really _bawling_. Soda squeezed me tight and muttered, "It's ok, Pony, we're going home now, it's ok."

"Let's get out of here," I heard Darry say somewhere over my head, but I couldn't stop crying even as Soda gently propelled me to the car. All three of us squished into the front seat, and I had to sit kind of sideways with my legs on top of Soda's so that Darry had room to move the gearshift. It was uncomfortable, but I didn't care, particularly since all I did for the first half an hour was cry anyway. Gradually my sobs died down, and I became aware that Darry's hand rested lightly on the back of my head and that Soda was gently rubbing my shoulders while murmuring a soothing stream of comforting words.

At last I took a shuddering breath and wiped my face on the sleeve of that stupid blue shirt. "Sorry."

"Hey, I been doing so much of that the last week that Darry had to buy flood insurance," Soda said lightly.

We were all silent for a few minutes while my breathing returned to normal, and then I asked, "How'd you do it, Darry? How'd you get me out?"

I expected a smile and maybe even a quick chuckle over how he'd manage to pull one over on Roger Brady, but instead he dropped his hand from my head and kept his gaze on the road. "It's complicated."

I craned my neck to watch his stern profile, and then I looked back at Soda. "It was Sara," he said. "She's the one who came up with the idea."

"Sara?" I asked, confused.

"Yeah, Miss Meriwether."

"Miss Meriwether?" I echoed in surprise. "Why is she involved?" And why was Soda calling her _Sara_?

Soda threw a glance over at Darry, and if I didn't know better I'd have said he was almost nervous. But Soda doesn't do nervous, and not with Darry especially. "It was my idea," he admitted. "I couldn't think of anything else to do. That is, except for hunting Brady down and beating him until he brought you back. But Darry didn't think that would work too well."

"Not that I didn't want to," our big brother muttered, his knuckles suddenly white on the wheel. "But once the judge made the decision, Brady didn't have the power to get you back."

"So we needed a mighty good lawyer," Soda explained. "Only, of course, that kind cost some mighty good money. We thought about mortgaging the house …"

I sat up in sudden fear. "You didn't!"

"Nope. Couldn't find a bank that would take us on, at least, not at an interest rate that wouldn't bankrupt us and send you back and me with you inside of six months. Apparently we're what in the bank business they like to call a _high risk investment_," Soda said haughtily, sticking his nose in the air.

I laughed, weak with relief and sank back against the seat. "But you did get a lawyer."

"Yep. Sara got him for us. She showed up at the door as soon as she got back from her trip, looking for you. I think she's got some good news about your book."

My book. I'd forgotten all about it.

Soda was still talking. "Darry was out, and she was so anxious to see you, so I … kind of told her everything. And I mean _everything_. I started sometime back before mom and dad died and then I kept going until I hit the end. I dunno what came over me. Just couldn't keep it in anymore, I guess."

I knew the feeling. "What did she say?"

Soda grinned. "First she got mad. I could see it happening when I said Roger Brady's name. She just sat there and her eyes got angrier and angrier, until I was just grateful it wasn't me she was mad at. The first thing she said was, 'I suppose that _man_ can't be reasoned with,' only the way she said 'man' made it sound like fifty swear words. For a second, I thought she was going get up and march over to his house right then, but I told her me and Darry didn't figure he had any power left in the matter anyhow, so she cooled down a little bit and asked me to repeat what the social worker had said about the best way to bring you home."

Soda paused so I asked curiously, "Well, what did the social worker say?"

Darry suddenly shifted in the seat beside me, and I thought he was going to speak, but he kept his eyes on the road and his mouth shut, and it was Soda who answered. "She said we had to do something that would show the way we lived was going to be more … you know …"

"Stable," Darry put in suddenly, and I was surprised at the bitterness in his voice.

Soda was looking at him with sympathy and uneasiness in his gaze, and that made me uncertain as I asked, "How could we do that?"

It was again Soda who answered. "She said it would have to be something like moving to a better part of town or having a responsible relative come and live with us. Someone who would have a real interest in looking out for us."

"But shucks, that don't do us no good. We can't afford to move and we don't have any relatives!" I protested.

"We got some now," Soda informed me. "That's why we got to bring you home. It was Sara's idea. Her Aunt Lily is going to come and live with us. She gets here tomorrow."

I stared at Soda like he'd grown a second head. "But why? I mean, I know Miss Meriwether likes me and all, but why would her aunt help us out? And how does that even help? I mean, she's not our own relative, so why would the judge think she has a real interest in us?"

"Well, uh, you see, I reckon she's real fond of Sara, and, uh …" Soda trailed off, staring at Darry.

I looked in confusion from one to the other, and then my biggest brother said quietly, "Sara and I are engaged."

It had been a day of surprises, but that one would have knocked my feet right from under me had I been standing. "Engaged?" I squeaked. "Like to be married?"

"They're not really going to get married, but they're saying they will so that the judge will believe that her Aunt Lily has a good reason to live with us," Soda hastily explained. "They'll have a real long engagement and then call it off when you turn eighteen."

I looked at Soda, and then we both looked at Darry. He wasn't saying anything, and he looked calm but there was something about the way he was being calm that made me uneasy, although I couldn't quite put my finger on why.

"What if the judge gets suspicious?" I finally asked, tilting my face back up to Soda.

"We think that as long as he's convinced you're not getting into trouble, he's got too many other real problem cases to worry about," he answered.

"And that means you stay out of trouble, Pony, all kinds, accidental or not," Darry put in sharply. "One more slipup and they will take you away for good. And that goes for you too, little buddy," he added, glancing at Soda. "You're not quite eighteen yourself."

Soda gave me a tight one-armed hug. "We'll be so good we'll put the nuns out of business," he promised.

Darry rolled his eyes, and some of the tension that had been smothering the front seat eased.

I asked "When's Aunt Lily coming?"

"Tomorrow," Darry answered. "Sara will pick her up from the train station."

"Where's she going to sleep?" I wondered.

"In mom and dad's room," he told me quietly. Soda's arm tightened around me and I heard him swallow hard. No one had slept in that room since the accident, even though it had been more than a year. If one of the guys slept over they took the couch or bunked in Soda's room, since he didn't use it. "We'll have to clean it tonight."

"We were waiting for you," Soda added, sounding kind of choked up.

I felt little eddies of sadness swirl up around me, but they didn't pull me in and try to drown me like they used to. "I guess it's time," I sighed, settling down against Soda's shoulder, sad but also glad that what was left of our family was together again.

The next thing I knew Darry was pulling the car up in front of our house. "Did I fall asleep?" I tried to ask, but I answered my own question with a yawn.

"Didn't they let you sleep in that place?" Soda asked jokingly, gingerly massaging his arm, which must have been pretty stiff after the way I leaned on it all the way home.

I grimaced, thinking of the nights I'd spent tossing and turning in worry and fear. "Not much."

The front door of the house flew open, and Two-Bit pounded down the steps. "Pony!" he shouted, grabbing me in a move that was half wrestle and half hug. "I guess they didn't torture you too bad. Looks like you still got all your fingers." He held up one of my hands and pretended to inspect it.

"Nah, they don't pull out your fingernails until you been there a whole month," I returned, slinging my arm around his shoulders. "How you been, Two-Bit?"

"All right." He grinned. "I met a cute little waitress at that diner over on Elm and Main, so I'd say things are going real well."

I glanced back at the house and saw Steve standing on the porch, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans. When we got close he nodded at me. "Hi Pony."

"Hi Steve," I returned, a little uncertainly.

Then he blurted out, "Look, Pony, I can't tell you how sorry I am …"

"Heck, Steve, it wasn't your fault," I interrupted him. "I ain't mad at you." If it had been anyone but Steve, I would have said he looked relieved. Inside the house, I could just about have cried, things looked so familiar and good. Fortunately, I was distracted by a flood of marvelous smells that streamed from the kitchen.

"You guys cooked dinner?" Soda asked, disbelief coloring his voice. Neither Two-Bit nor Steve is exactly known for their talent in the kitchen.

Two-Bit puffed out his chest and affected a falsetto. "Sure did! Spent the day slaving away over the hot stove to be ready for my men when they …"

Steve smacked him on the ear. "Bite your lying tongue, Two-Bit. Sara made dinner."

A funny kind of silence suddenly descended, until Two-Bit said too loudly, "She ain't here anymore. She said she had to go to a teacher's meeting, but come in and look at what she left us!" He pushed ahead into the kitchen.

And it was worth looking at: a mountain of fried chicken, mashed potatoes heaped so high I could have stuck my arm in up to the elbow, green beans, corn pone, fresh bread, and for dessert, of course, chocolate cake.

"Golly," Soda breathed, awed.

I was suddenly so hungry I wanted to dive face first into the potatoes. "Let's eat!" I shouted, and dove for my chair like I was sliding into home plate.

It was a lot of food, but we handled it like men, so that in the end, all that was left was just enough cake for breakfast. Stuffed so full I couldn't speak, I just leaned back in my chair and groaned.

"I can tell you one thing," Two-Bit announced slowly. "If she's doing the cooking from now on, I'm going to start eating at your house."

"Two-Bit, you _already_ eat at our house _all_ the time," Soda pointed out.

"Well then, I guess I won't be changing my habits."

Steve made a show of looking at his watch. "I guess I'd better get going. Coming, Two-Bit?"

Two-Bit shook his head. "Nah, I think I'll …" He suddenly winced, and I guessed that Steve had kicked him under the table. "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming."

We heard the front door close behind them, and then the three of us Curtis boys sat looking at each other for a moment. "Well, let's get to it," Darry said abruptly, pushing back from the table.

Silently, Soda and I followed him to our parents' room. I don't know if any of us had been in there much over the last year. After the accident, we'd kind of shut the door and let things be, so now as we walked in it almost seemed as if the room had been used just yesterday. Half in a daze, I watched Soda go over to the dresser and pick up the hairbrush that lay on the top. "I remember," he said slowly, "she used to like me to brush her hair for her at night, when she was tired."

I remembered that too, and a hundred other things brought back by the room. I swallowed hard and forced myself to ask, "What are we going to do with … with everything?"

"Put it in boxes in the attic for now, I guess," Darry said heavily. "Sometime we'll have to go through and decide what we want to keep."

_But not tonight_, I thought in relief.

I kept having to wipe my cheek on my sleeve as we went through, carefully packing things away. I caught Soda doing the same, and even Darry had to bury his face a moment in an old jacket of our father's. At last, the boxes were full and the room empty. Darry and I stuck everything up in our crawl space of an attic while Soda dusted and swept and put fresh sheets on the bed. Despite my nap on the way home, I felt exhausted as we finally shut the door behind us and collapsed on the couch. Over my head, I was vaguely aware of the rumble of Darry's voice, but I couldn't quite make out what he was saying before I slipped into a deep, peaceful sleep, the kind I hadn't had since they'd taken me away.

_To Be Continued_


	11. The Aunt

**A/N** Update! Yay! What does everyone think of the new summary? I think it fits what the story is becoming a little better than the old one.

**Chapter 11**

I awoke the next morning in my own bed, with the smell of frying bacon drifting enticingly through the door. Next moment, Soda poke his head through and grinned when he saw my eyes open. "Get up, Sleepyhead, or I'm going to finish your breakfast for you."

Breakfast. I hadn't had a real breakfast in weeks. I bounded out of the bed and hustled into the kitchen, where I found Darry frying up a pan full of bacon just for me. He and Soda had already eaten and were about ready to take off for work. Darry grabbed me into a one armed hug when he saw me, his other hand still on the skillet. "Glory, but it's good to have you back, Pone. How'd you sleep?"

"Fine. Do I have to go to school today?" I asked, as I sat down to my plate already heaping with eggs, fork in hand.

"You can stay home today," Darry allowed, scraping the bacon on top of my eggs and tossing the skillet in the sink. "Besides, someone needs to be here to greet Aunt Lily, and Soda and I can't afford to lose any more work."

I felt a surge of guilt, and I guess some of it showed on my face because Soda tousled my hair roughly as he passed, and said, "And I sure needed the vacation! Too bad we didn't make it to the beach."

"Too bad," Darry agreed wryly, but he was smiling. "Her train gets in at two, so try to pick up the house some before then, will you, honey?" He rested his hand on my shoulder for a minute, and I had to choke back a lump in my throat. "And if anyone you don't know comes to the door, pretend you ain't home."

I shuddered. "You bet."

Then my brothers slammed out the door. I heard the motor roar to life in the driveway, Soda burst back in to grab the lunch he'd forgotten on the counter, and then I was alone. A wrenching fear possessed me, and I had to grip the edge of the table to keep myself from running down the road after them and beg them to take me too. I remembered what had happened the last time I'd been home by myself, and I started breathing fast as my bacon and eggs started a riot in my stomach. We'd always left the door unlocked so that the people who needed to get in could; now I was realizing that it also let in all the people we didn't want—like cops who dragged you away. I don't know what I would have done if Two-Bit hadn't suddenly appeared, whistling cheerfully, although I almost had a heart attack when he slammed the front door.

"Howdy, Ponyboy," he greeted me, then frowned. "You don't look so good."

I looked down to hide how relieved I was to see him. "I reckon … I reckon I ate too much. The food at the Home was lousy."

Two-Bit leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "Worse than in the joint?"

I had to laugh. "How should I know? Better ask Curly Shepard."

Satisfied with my laughter, Two-Bit pointed at my plate. "You done with that?"

"Sure." I pushed it toward him, and he happily polished off the remaining slices of bacon.

"Why aren'tchoo in school?" he asked through a full mouth.

"Darry said I didn't have to go today. Besides, I've got to clean the house for Aunt Lily."

"Clean the house!" Two-Bit said indignantly, spraying bacon bits across the table. "What's wrong with it? You've got the cleanest house on the block, maybe in the whole neighborhood. Every time I've been here lately Darry gives me a broom or a rag or the lawnmower, so don't you start too!"

I had to admit everything looked pretty good to me. But there was probably what Mrs. Grunky called "a discernable gap" between an aunt's idea of clean and mine. "You don't have to help, but stick around and keep me company, will you? It may not really have been the joint, but I feel like I just got out of prison, and the guards didn't let you talk much." It was true enough, if not the main reason I wanted Two-Bit to stick around.

Since he'd already decided to, as our school guidance counselor put it, "neglect his educational opportunities" for the day, Two-Bit had no objection as long as I didn't make him clean. He snagged the last sliver of chocolate cake and watched cartoons in between following me around and yammering at me. I hadn't realized how much I'd missed his good natured nonsense.

"I gotta say," he sighed, licking the cake frosting off his fingers and heaving a satisfied sigh, "that Miss Meriwether is one fine cook. You reckon her aunt will be as good?"

"I dunno, maybe. I hope so," I added, remembering the fried chicken.

"I hope so too. Not that it'll do me any good if Darry never lets me set foot in the house once she's here."

I paused my scrubbing of the bacon pan and looked at Two-Bit curiously. "What do you mean?"

Two-Bit rolled his eyes. "Hasn't he told you his list of rules yet?" Holding up his fingers he began to tick them off. "Knock before you come into the house, speak respectfully to Miss Meriwether, don't stay for dinner unless you're invited, no beer and no smoking in the house, and above all, don't annoy Miss Hinton with your tomfool babble, Two-Bit or I'll skin you and leave you on the tracks for the next train!" His imitation of Darry's lecturing tone was so good that I almost split my sides laughing, like I hadn't laughed in weeks.

Soon as I could catch my breath I asked, "Miss Hinton?"

"That's the aunt's official name. I ain't allowed to call her Aunt Lily." Two-Bit quirked one of his eyebrows up in exasperation, so I knew it was another of Darry's rules.

I slowly finished the dishes, thinking over the rules Two-Bit had recited. He'd done it jokingly, but I knew Darry had probably been serious when he made them. I remembered how quiet and stern he'd been during the ride home yesterday, and tried to figure out what was going on behind those frozen eyes of his. For myself, my feelings were mixed. Even though I felt guilty about the way Miss Meriwether was tying herself up for the next three years on account of me, I also really liked the idea of having her around outside of school as well as in it. I'd always wondered what it would be like to have a sister, and now maybe I could find out. I wasn't as sure about Aunt Lily—it would all depend on what she was like, but even if she was as nice as nice could be, things were still going to change. Things like the guys having to knock instead of just busting right in like they were accustomed to any hour of the day or night. And Darry … I tried to look at things from his perspective. I couldn't imagine that he felt guilty the same way I did. After all, it was me and my stupidity in going to the race and in making an enemy of Mr. Brady that had gotten us into this mess in the first place. None of it was Darry's fault.

But then I hesitated. It might not be Darry's fault, but he'd shoulder the responsibility for it anyway. He'd blame himself that I got taken away, and he'd hate himself for not being able to get me out on his own. Pride doesn't go away just because you haven't got any options. And here was Miss Meriwether, who wasn't kin, who wasn't a friend like the gang members who were closer than relatives anyway, who was just a stranger who'd been thrust into our lives because Mr. Syme broke his leg in Colorado, and she had saved our whole family and made us beholden to her in a way that couldn't be repaid. Ever. Darry worked like a dog and gave up everything to keep us together and it hadn't been enough. My stomach grew cold as I thought about the way this debt must be hanging over him, would hang over him for the rest of his life.

A hot tear trickled down my cheek, but fortunately Two-Bit had gotten bored with watching me do dishes and had gone back out to the television. I ended up doing a lot more housework than I'd first planned on that day, mainly to keep myself from thinking too much. The truth was that we were stuck in our situation and brooding wasn't going to make it any better. When I got done cleaning, I climbed in the shower and spent a long time just letting the water stream over me. At the Home, showers were timed, and if you were caught wasting water, you went without your shower the next day. I dug out a pair of fairly decent jeans and a shirt that buttoned instead of a t-shirt. I carefully slicked back my hair – grease was another luxury I'd missed, but at least Trill hadn't gotten around to cutting my hair as he'd been threatening – and then I wandered back out to the living room. Two-Bit looked up when he saw me and grinned. "You look like you're dressed for something better than an old aunt."

I flopped down on the couch next to him. "You have any aunts, Two-Bit?"

"One," he answered, not taking his eyes off the screen.

"What's she like?"

"Cranky. She always says, 'Get off your duff, lazy no-good, and get a job.' I tell her I'm still furthering my education."

I rolled my eyes. Two-Bit had already been in high school too long, and I don't think even he knew when he planned to get out. His description of an aunt wasn't promising, but I hoped a relative belonging to Miss Meriwether would have advantages over one belonging to Two-Bit.

We watched TV for awhile longer, Two-Bit napping and me fidgeting until two-thirty. Then Two-Bit yawned, glanced at the clock, and stood. "I better go. I'm not supposed to be here when the blessed aunt shows up."

"I don't care if you stay," I pleaded.

He shook his head firmly. "Nope, I'm staying on Darry's good side. I want to keep eating here!" He reached over to mess up my carefully combed hair and ran out the front door before I could pound him for it.

He wasn't any too soon because I had only just gotten my hair back in order when I heard a car pull up in front of the house. Normally, I would have opened the door and gone out to greet any guests I was expecting, but this time I stood in the living room, wiping my sweaty palms against my jeans and wondering why I was so nervous, until there was a knock on the door. Taking a deep breath, I walked over and opened it.

"Ponyboy!" One moment Miss Meriwether was beaming at me, and the next she had pulled me into a tight hug. "I'm so glad to see you," she breathed into my ear. "I've never felt so awful in my life as when I realized it was my fault they took you away."

I hugged her back gladly. "It wasn't your fault, you can't think that."

She pulled back and smiled, looking a little teary eyed. "Well, the important thing is that you're home now, and you're going to stay here. Aunt Lily, this is Ponyboy."

Up to then, I hadn't been able to get a look at the other woman on the porch. But now Miss Meriwether beckoned her forward, and my first impression was of a little wispy thing. _She's shorter than I am_, I thought in surprise. Somehow, I guess I expected an aunt to be a sort of giant. Then I started taking in the details, and I think I probably gawked. Miss Meriwether was pretty—one of the prettiest girls I'd ever seen in my opinion—but it was in the sort of way that would make you vote her the all-American girl next door. Miss Lily Hinton was something else. Although her hair had mostly changed from blonde to silver, her skin was fair and unlined, like it had never had a day of sun in her life. She was petite, but she held herself straight as an arrow, and when she walked it was more like she was gliding on some cloud the rest of us clods stepped right through. Her blue eyes caught and held me with such strength that the first time I met her was the last time I thought of her as wispy.

After I finally finished _Gone with the Wind_, I went to the library one afternoon to see what other kinds of stories people had written about the Civil War, and one thing the librarian gave me was a poem called "John Brown's Body." It was real long, so I just skimmed over some of it, but there were a few lines that got sort of tangled up in my mind, and two of them floated to the surface now: _Mary Lou Wingate as slightly made and as hard to break as a rapier-blade._ That was my first impression of Lily Hinton, and the more I got to know her, the more I was convinced that it was the right one. She looked like an exquisite doll that might be carried off by the next strong gust of wind, but she had more steel in her than most of the hoods I knew.

"Aunt Lily, this is Ponyboy," Miss Meriwether said, her hand still on my shoulder, and I thought her tone sounded almost proud, except that didn't make any sense. What did she have to be proud about? "Pony, this is my aunt, Miss Lily Hinton."

I felt like I should bow or something, but I didn't know how, so I sort of stuck out my hand and mumbled, "How do you do?"

"Don't mumble, child," she said. She had a southern accent too, but where Miss Meriwether's voice was nearly always sunny and warm, Lily Hinton's reminded me of a wine glass—clear and beautiful, but inflexible. "Come out here where I can look at you."

She took my hand and pulled me out into the sun that was blazing down on the porch and took my chin in her tiny hand. I could feel myself starting to blush as her cool blue eyes examined me critically from head to toe. "Seraphina Emmeline, he is far too skinny," she declared at last, as though this were somehow Miss Meriwether's fault.

My teacher was looking at me now too, a little pucker forming between her brows. "He does look thinner than he used to. Ponyboy, didn't they feed you at that awful place?"

Lily didn't give me a chance to answer. "Pig swill, no doubt. I have no faith in government institutions." She finally let go of my chin and stepped back. "Shall we go inside?" And she led the way in as though she'd been living in the house all her life.

That part of me that wasn't sort of dazed started cringing. She wasn't going to like the house. I would have sworn that on a stack of Bibles. But I was wrong. She sailed through the house like a queen coming home to her kingdom, and when I opened the door to her bedroom, she looked around, nodded once, and said, "Quite satisfactory, thank you. Now, if you will give me a minute to change my dress, it's high time I began dinner preparations."

"Aw, Miss Hinton, you don't have to do that, on your first day and all …" I stumbled to a stop as I realized that she was looking at me with disapproval.

"I shall do what I came here to do. Go and tell Seraphina to start peelin' potatoes, and you may call me Aunt Lily." I obeyed her without thinking about it.

I found Miss Meriwether in the kitchen, an apron tied on and her sleeves rolled up, as though she'd already heard my message. She smiled wryly and asked, "Carrots or potatoes?"

"Potatoes," I said, smiling back and pulling the bag out of the cupboard.

"You may have noticed that Aunt Lily has a very … decided personality."

I had to laugh. "Kind of."

"Kind of? She is a tyrant. But she gets things done, and official people are always impressed by her." She shook her head and rummaged in the drawer for a knife to start on the potatoes. I pulled out another one and we had the bottom of the pot covered when Lily reappeared. She had changed out of her neat black suit into an equally neat and equally black dress, with a ruffled apron tied over the top of it.

"Heavens, child, I didn't mean for you to peel. Sit down while I find you something to eat."

"I don't mind helping," I protested, but her tiny hand was under my arm, and suddenly I was sitting down at the table while she made me two sandwiches and poured a glass of milk.

"Eat up now," she ordered, so I did. I'd skipped lunch anyway.

Aunt Lily was opening cupboard doors one after the other, taking a quick look inside and then shutting them with a little snap. I wondered what she was looking for and how it measured up to what she saw.

"That's enough, Seraphina," she said abruptly, as Miss Meriwether threw another potato into the pot. "Start on the onions. I'm makin' dressin'."

I ate my sandwiches and watched the two women fly around the kitchen. Aunt Lily gave all the orders. Miss Meriwether obeyed quietly, but I thought she was looking kind of strained by the end. The limited supplies in our kitchen weren't going to keep Aunt Lily happy for very long, I thought as I watched her fit one more pan into the oven, and then I suddenly realized that I hadn't seen her bring in anything of her own. Embarrassed, I jumped to my feet. "Gosh, I forgot about your luggage! Is it in the car?"

Miss Meriwether suddenly smiled, and Aunt Lily saw. "Seraphina Emmeline, not one word!" She turned to me. "There are two suitcases in the car. The rest is comin' in a taxi. I would appreciate your bringin' in the suitcases."

Puzzled, I went out and popped open the trunk on Miss Meriwether's car. There were two enormous brown suitcases wedged inside. I took a double handed grip on one and tugged. Then I planted my feet more firmly and tugged again. Slowly, the case slid out of trunk. I tugged harder and it came more quickly until it fell over the edge. I wailed in pain as I shoved it off my foot and hopped around one-legged, trying not to swear too loudly. This must be why the rest of the luggage was coming in a taxi—by the feel of my toes, that suitcase alone weighed more than Aunt Lily.

I shut the trunk, deciding the other suitcase could wait for Darry, and started hauling the thing up the walk, wondering what could possibly be in it. I had to stop for breath when I got it up on the porch, and as I stood there gasping, I heard Aunt Lily snap, "Seraphina Emmeline, _don't_ set that there."

A moment later Miss Meriwether appeared on the porch and set a steaming pot on the edge of the porch. "No space left inside."

"Does she always boss you around like that?" I asked in a low voice, glancing toward the door.

Miss Meriwether followed my gaze and smiled wryly. "Let's just say that in all the years I've known her, she hasn't changed a bit.

_To Be Continued_


	12. The Beginning

**A/N **_Voilá, un update!_ Well, perhaps not exactly _voilá_, but it is, in fact, an update. Enjoy, and thanks again for your reviews and your patience!

**Chapter 12**

By the time Darry and Soda came home, the kitchen was so full of smells and steam that I didn't dare go in. I sat on the porch, keeping guard over the things that had been set out to cool. I didn't know if any of the mongrel dogs that slunk around our neighborhood could jump over the fence or not, but I didn't want to risk it. I had just sent one especially curious mutt yelping away from a rock that didn't actually hit him when Darry pulled into the driveway. My brothers were barely out of the car when a taxi pulled up to the curb. The driver got out, looking doubtful. "Hey kid, does a lady with a lot of luggage live here?" he called to me.

"She does now," I hollered back, waving to Soda and Darry. "Aunt Lily's luggage is here."

They looked at the taxi in surprise, but their eyes didn't pop out until they saw what was in it—two more of the enormous suitcases plus six large, heavy wooden boxes. They took up the whole cab. Darry, being Darry, hefted both suitcases while Soda and I staggered behind him with a box apiece. The driver good naturedly stacked boxes on the porch, and when everything had made it at least that far, Darry reached for his wallet. "What do we owe you?"

I listened, half curious and half scared—taxis were a luxury I'd never heard the price of before, but the driver shook his head. "The lady already paid and tipped. And brother," he ruefully rubbed his arms, "did I ever earn it!"

By the time we got the luggage, including the other suitcase from Miss Meriwether's car, neatly lined up in the bedroom, the kitchen seemed to have shaken itself into order. Lily suddenly emerged looking, despite three hours of hard cooking, as cool and perfect as when I'd first seen her.

She smiled graciously, the first smile I'd seen her give, at Darry. "You must be Darr'l. I'm so delighted to meet you at last." She extended her slender, pale hand and Darry took it cautiously, as though he were afraid it might break.

"How do you do, Miss Hinton?" His voice was polite, but he was giving her one of his cool, assessing stares, so I guess he wasn't as bowled over by her as I had been, but then, Darry always uses his head before reaching conclusions. He'd probably think it was crazy to judge somebody by a couple of lines of poetry she happened to remind you of.

Lily turned her attention to Soda then, and her smile shifted a little so that it was no longer gracious but more just polite. "And you are Sodapop."

"Yes, ma'am." Soda looked at her, considering, and then he offered a smile, and it wasn't the "see-what-an-angelic-boy-I-am" smile he usually gave old ladies. It was the "where-have-you-been-all-my-life" one that he saved especially for pretty girls who came to the DX with imaginary car troubles and free Friday nights. "Ma'am, I've been awfully grateful that you were coming to help us out, but we were expecting an elderly woman, not a young and beautiful one. Are you sure the judge will think you're a proper guardian?"

I think my jaw dropped a little as I stared at his sheer cheek. _She'll never fall for that_, I thought, but once again I was proved wrong about Aunt Lily.

She stared at him for a moment, her eyes widening, and then she melted. Her expression went from cool to delighted as she shook her head, actually laughing a little. "You," she admonished, shaking her finger at him. "I can tell you are the scoundrel of the family. Go and get cleaned up for supper before you tell any more lies."

Soda's eyes went round and innocent. "I never tell lies," he swore.

"There's another. Go on. Shoo!" she shook her apron at him and Soda retreated to the bedroom, looking mighty pleased with himself.

I glanced up at Darry and saw him shaking his head at Soda's back.

"Supper will be ready in ten minutes," Aunt Lily announced, smiling again at Darry before disappearing back into the kitchen.

"Glory," Darry muttered.

I knew how he felt.

Supper, which could have been quiet and awkward considering our circumstances, was actually noisy and cheerful. Soda chattered continuously around mouthfuls of each of the twelve (I counted them) delicious dishes, and even Darry let himself be drawn into the conversation. In fact, the only quiet one was Miss Meriwether. She had a quick smile and answer for anyone who asked her a question, but for most part she stayed silent, kind of picking at her food. I thought she looked tired. When the meal was over, Darry had to take off for work. Soda and I tried to help with the dishes, but Aunt Lily shooed us away, saying something about the kitchen being no place for a man.

"Are you going out with Steve?" I asked Soda, flopping onto the couch while he fooled with the radio.

"Not tonight," he answered, adjusting the station to his liking and coming to sit beside me. "She's really something, isn't she?"

There was no need to ask which "she" he meant. "Yeah. Not what I expected an aunt to be like."

"You can say that again. Well, whatever things are going to be like around here, it sure isn't boring." Soda grinned contentedly. "Say, what do you think old Superman thinks?"

I shrugged. "I dunno. He didn't really seem like anything. I reckon he's still deciding. Using his head."

Soda laughed. "Like always." We listened to the program in silence for awhile, and then my brother turned to me and demanded, "And what on earth's in all that luggage, anyway?"

"That's easy," Miss Meriwether's voice spoke from behind us. "Her kitchen."

I turned to look at her and saw that she had her apron off and her coat on. "You leaving?"

"I have some grading to do before bed."

I got up to walk her out to her car. "Drive safely," I cautioned when we were standing beside her Chevy.

She laughed. "I will. Goodnight, Ponyboy." She slipped her arm around my shoulders and gave me a hug.

"Goodnight, Miss Meriwether."

She turned her head and kissed my cheek. "When we're not in school you can call me Sara. I'll see you tomorrow."

She climbed in, but before she shut the door, I said hastily, "Miss Meri...Sara …" I couldn't think of what it was exactly that I wanted to say, so I just mumbled, "Thanks. For … everything."

She smiled understandingly. "My pleasure."

I woke up the next morning to smells that made my stomach rumble, even though I would've sworn I'd never eat again after the way I'd stuffed myself the night before. Crawling over Soda, who still lay with the covers over his head, I pulled on jeans and a t-shirt, ran a comb through my hair, and headed out in search of the tempting smells. But when I got to the door of the kitchen, I stopped, confused. I had to be in the right house, and the room did look familiar, but it was all wrong somehow. The curtains for example—I'd never paid much attention to them, but I was pretty sure they hadn't been blue or so ironed and starched looking. And there were little rag rugs on the floor that I knew had never been there before because I'd swept the floor only yesterday morning. Little things, like canisters, seemed to have up and moved themselves during the night, and everything seemed incredibly shiny, catching the morning light and throwing it back in a way that made me squint at first.

I was so busy staring around that I didn't even notice Darry sitting at the table until I had sunk into my own chair. He was drinking coffee, which was at least something normal, but it was in a delicate china cup instead of his usual mug that read Coca Cola on the side. He was holding it funny, like he was afraid it might come to pieces in his hand any second and leave him with a lapful of coffee.

"Morning, Pony," Darry said wryly, as I continued to stare at the cup.

"Morning. What's all this stuff?"

He shrugged. "Aunt Lily asked if I minded if she moved some of her own things into the kitchen. I said I didn't."

I had to laugh. "I guess Miss Meriwether wasn't kidding!"

Darry looked at me questioningly, but before I could explain the back door swung open and Aunt Lily came in. She was in another black dress (I couldn't tell if it was the same one as the day before or not) with an apron over it.

"Good morning, Ponyboy, did you sleep well?" she asked, resting the broom she held against the wall and moving to the refrigerator to pull out the milk.

"Yes, thank you," I replied, watching as she picked up the coffee pot on her way to the table and refilled Darry's cup before coming around to me with the milk. As she continued to glide back and forth between the stove, refrigerator, and table, I couldn't help being amazed at the way she never seemed to hurry, yet got everything done quicker than I could have when I was still running for track.

Soda came in a minute later, still looking sleepy but dressed. We had breakfast—a meal bigger than anything called breakfast _should_ be—and then Soda and Darry hurried to get ready for work and me for school.

I felt strangely nervous when Darry dropped me off and I walked through the front doors. It felt like when I had to go back to school after Johnny died and everyone had read the papers and knew everything that had happened. I guessed that everyone would still know everything even though it hadn't been in the papers this time, and they'd all be staring at me again. The thought made me dig my fingernails into my palms so that I would keep moving forward, not turn and race out the door toward home.

The day actually turned out not to be as bad as I was expecting. Sure, I got a few stares and whispers, but there were also a few people who seemed really glad to see me back, and that made me feel surprisingly good. Even cranky Mrs. Grunky said, "Welcome back," when she read my name on the roll.

In fact, there was only one part of the day that made me feel upset, and that was when I met Cindy Brady in the hallway. I'd seen her right before lunch, and I'd avoided her by ducking down a hallway. But as I came out of English that afternoon, she was waiting for me right outside the door. "Ponyboy," she said, stepping forward.

I ignored her and started walking fast. Jim, who was walking with me, hurried to keep up, shooting me a puzzled glance. I guess though everyone knew I'd been in the Home for the past couple of weeks, they didn't know it was Roger Brady who put me there.

Cindy ran after us. "Ponyboy!"

People were starting to stare, but I didn't care. I didn't even turn my head as she gasped, "I just wanted to say that … I'm sorry."

I stopped dead in my tracks and finally looked at her. "For what?" I asked coldly.

"For … well … because …" Just as I'd thought, she wasn't actually going to admit what her dad had done. She just wanted to make herself feel better by saying "Sorry."

"Stay away from me," I said coldly, and moved on, not caring that she looked as though she were about to cry. She was probably spying for her dad anyway, telling him everything that went on at school.

"What was that about?" Jim demanded as we headed for our seats in biology.

"None of your business," I muttered.

He looked startled. "Whoa, sorry."

I sighed and slumped into my seat, trying to relax, or at least distract myself by thinking about the giant mountain of homework I had to get caught up on. Of course, the classes at the Home hadn't done any good at all in keeping me caught up with my real schoolwork.

Aunt Lily moving in was a major shift in our lives, but even so, we settled quickly into a new routine. She made thing run so smoothly that it was hard to see how it could have worked out any differently. Actually, having her there was mostly easier for us. The kitchen really was the only room she changed much, although the rest of the house seemed to get shinier by degrees. She made few demands on us other than that we be clean and on time for meals, although under Darry's critical eye Soda and I always made sure to be on our best behavior around her. And what we got in exchange was a freedom from chores. Everything was always clean, laundry appeared ironed and folded on our beds as if by magic, and there was always, _always_ more incredible food than a family twice our size could have eaten. Sometimes I wondered where all the cash to pay for the perpetual feast came from, but I figured Darry and Aunt Lily must have worked out something between them.

But despite the fact that she was living with us, that I saw her and listened to her and talked to her every day, after a week or so I began to get the oddest feeling that I didn't know her and that I wasn't getting to know her, either. It hit me one day because Mother's Day, along with the end of the school year, was coming up and the school was putting together a special program like they always did. Afternoon classes would be called off and the band and choir would perform, someone on the debate team would give a flowery speech, and they'd pass out as many awards as they could, so that lots of proud mothers could have a chance to stand up and clap. My mom had come every year before she died, since Darry was usually up for some ribbon or other. I'd never been up on the stage myself and didn't care to be, even though this was only my first year out of junior high. Last year, I'd skipped the whole day of school because I couldn't take it, and Darry for once hadn't said a single word. But the reason I'm bringing all this up is because it was Mother's Day that made me realize how little I knew Aunt Lily. All week I'd been overhearing snatches, mostly from girls, about what they would be doing for their mothers, whether extra chores, special meals, or cards and gifts.

Aunt Lily was a far cry from a mother, but she did do a lot of things you usually associate with mothers like cook and clean and make sure you eat your vegetables before your cake. So I started thinking that maybe I should do something for her, just to show my appreciation. But when I tried to think of what it might be, I came up blank. I couldn't cook for her, because she'd give me the evil eye of death if I fooled around with what had become _her_ kitchen. I didn't know if she liked flowers and what kind, and ditto for chocolates. I didn't even know what her favorite color was—she always wore black, nothing but black. I didn't know if she liked to read or listen to music—every time I saw her she was doing housework, and although she sometimes spent an hour or two in her room, I hadn't seen past the door of that since the day I hauled her luggage into it. She laughed at Soda's nonsense, was unfailingly courteous to Darry, and scolded me for being too skinny, but I'd never, to my recollection, heard her make a single personal remark. Aunt Lily was an enigma, which was a word I'd learned in English that year. It meant a mystery or riddle, and at that point it seemed like one I'd never have a chance of solving.

Of course, not everything went smoothly. We liked eating Aunt Lily's food, but every once in a while I actually missed cooking. I missed not having chocolate cake for breakfast, too. Soda asked once if we could have it, and she smiled and asked if he wanted to stunt my growth. These were just little things, though. There were bigger problems.

One of them was Two-Bit. The first meeting between him and Aunt Lily was, no other way to put it, a disaster. He drove me home, like usual, my first day back at school, pumping me all the way about the new aunt. I mostly focused on the cooking she'd done last night, which in hindsight was probably a mistake, but everything else was too hard to explain, except the luggage. Two-Bit got a good laugh out of that, especially the way practically an entire kitchen had seemed to unfold out of it.

"She's like Mary Poppins. Remember when we saw that Ponyboy?" I remembered. Two-Bit had gotten us thrown out of the theater for standing up in the aisle and dancing along with the chimney sweeps.

"Mary Poppins only had one bag," I pointed out. "Aunt Lily has ten, and I've got the bruised toe to prove it."

"And she makes pie, huh?" he asked.

"Yep."

"Any of that pie left, do you suppose?"

"As long as Soda didn't stick it in his lunch."

So when we got home, Two-Bit came on in with me, which he did half the time anyway.

Aunt Lily was in the kitchen, her hands covered in flour, which may have been why she didn't offer to shake hands with Two-Bit as I introduced him, just looked him over with her cool blue eyes.

"Aunt Lily, this is a friend of mine," I stammered, suddenly uneasy. "He gave me a ride home from school."

"That was kind of him. Does your friend have a name?" she asked.

"Two-Bit," I answered, before I'd really thought it out.

"I asked what his name was, not how much he's worth," she said dryly, turning back to her dough and thumping it in a businesslike way, and I winced. Coming from Soda that remark would have been funny. Aunt Lily sounded as though she thought it likely Two-Bit really was only worth a quarter.

"Keith Matthews," Two-Bit blurted and hastily tacked on, "Ma'am."

"And what is your employment, Mr. Matthews?"

Two-Bit grinned, on familiar ground now, and I knew he was about to make one of his cracks about education. I shook my head at him, trying to warn him, but he wasn't paying attention. "I'm employed by the U.S. government."

"A government man?" Aunt Lily asked, that dryness back in her tone as she turned her head to look at him. "And what exactly do you do, Mr. Matthews?"

Two-Bit folded his arms across his chest and smirked like he always does when he knows he's about to get a big laugh. "Why, I work in the public school system, a long term, fulltime student. Yes ma'am, I'm one of their most valuable employees."

"I see," said Aunt Lily, turning back to her dough, and Two-Bit's smile faltered. "And when do you anticipate finishing your education, Mr. Matthews?"

I cringed inwardly, waiting for one of his usual replies about being satisfied with the company and not intending to leave, but instead he muttered, "I … I think I'll be finishing up real soon now, ma'am."

"That's nice." Aunt Lily thumped her dough a final time, dropped it in a bowl and covered it, then stepped over to the sink to rinse off the flour. When she was done, she turned and smiled at Two-Bit. "Thank you so much for bringing Ponyboy home. We won't keep you, since I'm certain your family will be waiting for you, to hear all about your day."

"Actually, my mother … Yeah, I guess I should be going. See you, Pony." He slapped me on the shoulder and hurried out of the kitchen.

"Just a second," I muttered to Aunt Lily and hurried after him, but by the time I got outside he was already in his car. "Two-Bit!" I hollered, but he just waved at me and roared away, trailing a cloud of exhaust.

I folded my arms and leaned against the front door, trying to collect my thoughts. I was furious that Aunt Lily had made a friend, and not just any friend but one of the gang, feel like he wasn't welcome in our house. But when I actually thought about it, I couldn't pin down any one thing she had done to drive him away. I also knew that I couldn't storm in and yell at her like I would have done with one of my brothers because like it or not, my security rested on her sticking around. And anyway, she was an older lady—you had to treat them with respect. If I hadn't been still mad as blazes, I would have been proud of myself for using my head so well, but the best I could do was try and hang on to my temper until my brothers got home.

That evening, I managed to pull Darry aside before he took off for work and explained what had happened with Two-Bit. Darry frowned, but more like he was troubled than like he was mad, and for a moment I was scared that he wasn't going to do anything—that his new rules were more important. But I should have known better. The gang is family, and that's the end of it. "I'll talk to her in the morning," my brother finally said, "and make sure she understands Two-Bit can _live_ here if he wants. But don't you say anything about it, Pony."

I promised, silently vowing to bite my tongue if necessary. I don't know what Darry said to her because it was over by the time I got up next morning, but as she handed me my lunch before I headed out the door to school, Aunt Lily said, "If Keith drives you home again, you be sure and ask him in for a piece of pie."

So I did, and Two-Bit came, but it wasn't the same. Sure enough, things were changing, and I knew for a fact that I didn't like it.

_To Be Continued_


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